


Of Vows and Other Choices

by trascias



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marriage Law Challenge, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 69,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascias/pseuds/trascias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione faces her sixth year at Hogwarts but her world is turned upside down in a single day. She has to face a Marriage Law, prophetic dreams and a temperamental husband with the threat of Lord Voldemort looming on the horizon.</p><p>This is just another take on the old Marriage Law Challenge in which I try to keep the plot mostly canon - but taking some licenses. You will eventually get Horcruxes, (some) camping days and Deathly Hallows, but also a lot of Hogwarts and a slightly different resolution.<br/>It is a long fic, the relationship builds very slowly and I am also slow updating - you have been warned :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All recognisable characters and events belong to J.K. Rowling and the wonderful world she created. I am just playing with them for a while - non profit, of course :)

Hermione Granger would probably always remember the day she and her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, assisted to their first Order meeting.

It was true the excitement of finally being part of "something big" – as Ron called it – and the sense of finally being treated as adults had played an important part to imprint the memory within all three of them. But Hermione had to acknowledge that for her there had been another - outwardly irrelevant - detail that had secured her record of the evening in her mind. This fact had been, as ridiculous as it sounded, that it had been the first time she had noticed Severus Snape as a man.

It hadn't been an earth-shattering revelation, nor had it unbalanced her world, but it had certainly been unexpected enough that she had surprised herself turning it over in her mind for the following few days. It had occurred in such an inconspicuous moment and in such an inconsequential situation that sometimes she even doubted the scene had happened at all.

That evening, at the end of the summer, she had followed an excited Harry and Ron into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place – where the gatherings were always held. Wonder of wonders, after a year in which each and every Order member had insisted in them being underage, suddenly they were summoned. Hermione strongly suspected that it was simply a gesture of the Headmaster to push Harry out of the depressing mood he had fallen into after the death of his godfather. t had already been crowded with Order members and most of which had turned quickly toward the three friends to welcome them.

Hermione, having been the last one to enter the room, had remained for a few moments behind the boys, who had already begun to energetically greet an equally enthusiastic Tonks. It had been at that very moment that she had noticed a presence on the corner on her left, which she had thought empty until then, and had turned towards it. She hadn't been expecting to find her DADA teacher leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. But the thing that had made her start in mid turn was the fact that his eyes, instead of glaring at her with their characteristic coldness, were sweeping over her asessingly, making her self-conscious.

She had tensed, expecting some snide remark, as he had been opposed to their joining to the Order from the very beginning. Instead, he had finally scrutinized her face for an moment before, noticing his stare was reciprocated, looking away, instantly regaining his initial aloofness. That contemplative stare he had fixated on her face had unbalanced her more that any other disagreeable expression would have, even taking into account that in the whole it all had happened in less that five seconds. For she, before having the chance to react, had been dragged into a bear hug by a clearly distressed Molly Weasley, effectively cutting her line of sight and thought for a while, the latter of which only had been resumed three hours later, while lying awake on her bed, fretting over it, and reproaching herself at being so naive that a simple curious look could disturb her so.

As time went by, the initial puzzling sensation - had Snape really checked her out? - had been receding, and the whole incident had become just a niggling and recurrent anecdote she seldom remembered, thought had not completely forgotten.

How little she expected to be subjected to a situation in which she would have to recall the incident, if only to reassure herself that a man, an actual human being, with feelings and fears, lurked somewhere behind those black cloaks and dark frowns.


	2. An Unusual Meeting

_Wednesday. January 8th. Four months later._

“Now you will have a clear proof of just how far the tendrils of my power reach. And with a new law I have designed and which will be passed by this time next day, you will make them expand even further,” announced Lord Voldemort to the congregation of dark figures either seated around the table or propped against the wall. Voldemort himself was lounging with a relaxed pose on an stuffed armchair with its back to the fire, projecting a long eerie shadow across the crowded room. Being said fireplace the only source of light, his scaly figure remained shrouded in darkness in which only his bare flesh was able to reflect some light: two elegant but unnaturaly pale hands and a sharp and unmerciful face.

“I know some of you will have to overcome ‘ethical’ issues to follow my orders, but I equally know you are more than willing to do it for me...” His eyes surveyed the nodding people in the room, all of them trying to appear calm although, in most cases, failing miserably at hiding their mounting apprehension.

One of the few successfuly impassive faces belonged to Severus Snape, Potions Master and the current Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was leaning onto the wall on the Dark Lord’s left and was grateful this effectively relieved him from the inspection. _He will have time enough to analise me after the meeting,_ he though dispassionately, firmly pushing back the mounting aprehension.

He was puzzled with the nature of the meeting, as it was larger than the inner-cicle ones, but many low-rank members hadn’t been summoned. Nearly all the Pureblood ones were there, however. He surveyed the room once again and swallowed thickly at realising the only half-bloods there were himself and the serpent himself. _Not good._ At that moment he caught Malfoy’s eye, who quickly turned his head but not fast enough that Snape couldn’t have a glimpse of his calm expression. Lucius was never one of the most demonstrative Death Eaters, but this unflappable calm... _He must already know what this is about._

“Of course we will be honored to serve you in every way we are able, my Lord,” proclamed Bellatrix Lestrange, cutting into his thoughts. “Just tell us what do we have to do.”

“Ah, as eager to please me as always, Bella. And as I see your comrades are becoming impatient I’ll get to the point...” Said Voldemort and his eyes flashed momentarily. _He’s enjoying it. Whatever it is, he’s enjoying it! _Thought an increasingly alarmed Potions master.__

 __“Very well, Lucius,” ended Voldemort, gesturing towards the blond man –__ I knew it __– who started to explain the contents of the controversial Law._ _

* * *

After about half an hour of explanations, quickly masked incredulous – or even outraged – expressions and polite inquiries, under the amused glint of the Dark Lord’s eyes, he dismissed the meeting and motioned Snape to approach him.

“What do you think about it?” He asked without preamble. “Don’t held anything back.”

“Well, it’s quite a drastic solution, although with high possibilities of success...”

“But?” Voldemort said with a hint of impatience.

“But I daresay most of my fellow Death Eater would have preferred another solution in which they wouldn’t have to - ah - compromise their bloodlines,” he ventured, neutrally. Since he had come back, the Dark Lord had asked for his opinion from time to time. If he actually valued Severus' assesment or if it was a show of trust, Severus didn't know.

“I would also, but I think this plan, as controversial as it may be, will prove to be useful. If anything, it will keep that meddler, Dumbledore, entertained. Besides, it isn’t as if I expected my followers to recognise the consecuential children as theirs.” He waved his hand. “Those children would be kept for as long as they may be useful, but then..." he made a vague gesture with his hand. "Although I have to say it amused me to see their first reactions... Do you think it will cause problems, though?”

Snape reflected on it for a moment.

“No, I don’t,” he answered cautiously. “They will, undoubtely, be reluctant at first, but they respect you far too much to let their prejudices interfere with your wishes. Besides, once they feel reassured of their sucessors remaining ‘pure’, they will undoubtedly realise the advantages of this arrangement... They are getting a new ‘toy’, their very own, for an indefinite amount of time. They will promptly see the benefits of it.” He ended with conviction.

Meanwhile, Voldemort had reached for Nagini and was stroking her absently and nodding slowly. Snape allowed himself to relax minutely.

“I thought as much.” Then he fixed his red pupils on the dark-haired man’s obsidian ones. “You are a valuable spy and analyst, Severus. Your work up to this moment has been... remarkable, although sometimes I can’t help but think you are getting too comfortable in your position, that you are becoming lazy... I don't like that idea, Severus. I warn you to don’t ever give me reason to convince myself so; I wouldn’t like to have to do anything about it.”

“I regret that I gave you that impression. I would do anything you wish me to, my Lord, and, of course, I’m deeply sorry I'm in no condition to participate in relation to the Law–”

“That you are,” cut Voldemort. “But don’t be so sure about it. You could still prove necessary.” Silence ensued, and Snape decided to risk breaking it.

“What would you like me to tell Dumbledore, if anything at all?”

After a moment, the red-eyed man answered, his lips twisting into a thin smile.

“Nothing, though I wish I could see his face when he discovers the Law. You may go, Severus.”

“Good night, my Lord,” Snape said with a bow, before exiting the room and dissaparating. He had to speak to Albus as soon as possible.

* * *

“How did it go? The usual, I presume.”

“Not exactly, Albus. There’s something new we need to talk about”. The older man frowned immediately.

“Does it require the pensieve?” He asked worriedly while summoning a decanter full of amber liquid and a glass.

“No, it’s pretty straight. But if you wish to have a look later to look for reactions between the assembled, be my guest,” dhrugged Snape while accepting a half-filled glass of the amber substance.

Both white eyebrows rose.

“A general gathering?”

“No, but neither the inner circle. An unusual combination.”

“How so?”

Silence ensued as the younger of the two men took a swig of his glass.

“The meeting was held in one of Malfoy’s states. I think the one in the west coast - there was storm going outside - but I’m not sure. However, in there were present all the Purebloods between his ranks. Even Wormtail”. His lip curled slightly in derision. “Malfoy, with his seemingly endless influence within the ministry, has managed to have a Marriage Law passed, under Voldemort’s Orders, of course.”

“A Marriage Law? Are you serious?” Asked Dumbledore incredulously.

“Absolutely. It’s suppose to be an incentive to Muggleborns to integrate themselves into our society. The Dark Lord seemed to think it was the easiest way of getting a hold of the muggleborn population short of taking the Ministry forcefully.”

“I see. Please go on.”

“In short, the Pureblood and Halfblood are able to petition for any Muggleborn, but the Pureblood will have preference above any Halfblood. If a Muggleborn is petitioned, he or she would have a month to decide between the Pureblood ones since the first petition. In case the person is only petitioned by Halfbloods, the ministry would choose ‘the more adequate candidate’. That is to say, the closest Death Eater.” Snape made a pause. “I don’t know whether to conclude that he’s gone rabid mad or that he’s a genius.” He eventually said, finishing his glass in a long gulp.

Dumbledore just nodded understandingly.

“Did he list concret objectives?”

“No. He said he would tell each of us who we should petition for. I hope he decides to let me alone, as I am half-blood, although he did mention that the possibility existed. It would complicate matters if I were to be chosen to marry someone,” he said with a worried frown. “However the main objectives are not that difficult to deduce...”

“Indeed. Mrs. Amelia Bones and Miss Maggie Whitsmire would be at the top of his particular black list, as they had been difficulting his control of the ministry for years.”

“You mean they have been a true pain in his arse for years...” The younger man said humorously, extracting an indulgent smile from his mentor.

“I suppose you could express it that way...”

Snape sobered suddently, remembering something.

“By the way, you need to get one of the Order members in the ministry to openly ‘discover’ this law quickly if you want to warn these ladies, as I’m not supposed to tell you anything of this.”

“Well, that’s a complication, although in any case it would be convenient to have a exact copy of the Law as soon as possible,” the Headmaster said meditatively. “In fact, I will warn all of our ministry members right away. And I will need a list of the muggleborns working for the ministry. Fawkes?” He called the Phoenix, who had been slumbering in its perch but approached quickly. Dumbledore paused in his haste to pick parchment and quill to look towards his Potions master. “Could you wait for a few moments? There’s something else I would like to discuss with you.”

“Of course. What it is?” Answered Snape, frowning slightly and crossing his arms.

“Your situation. I, for one, would like to have your back covered, whatever the decision of Tom," the Headmaster said, scribbling furiously in a piece of paper. “And the students, of course. Some of them would also be affected by it...” Snape visibly started at that, as he hadn’t considered it. “... and I would be very surprised if Hermione Granger’s isn’t one of the top five names on Tom Riddle’s list.”


	3. 'Something's off today'

_Thursday. January 9th._

She wasn’t a morning person.

No matter what each and every other human being in the school though about it, she just wasn’t eager to get up every day to attend lessons. She had discovered during the years she had spent into the magical world that the fact of doing what one had to do in each moment instead of what one wanted to do was called anything but. For her, the so called Gryffindor bravery was, at least in her person, nothing more and nothing less than another aspect of it. She wouldn’t let Harry and Ron get themselves killed if she could help it, and if that meant she had to risk her own life – repeatedly – in the process, then so be it.

So, if she was going to get out of the bed at the sound of her alarm clock to avoid having to hurry and getting late to the lessons, instead of lazing around, it was because she knew she had to. Even if that very day she had woken having the strange sensation in the pit of the stomach everybody has had at least once that announced it was about to be a bad day. A very bad day indeed.

After a languorous stretch, which dissipated somewhat her pessimistic thoughts, she padded towards her bathroom – thanks God for letting the Head Girl have her own facilities – and got into the shower. She had discovered earlier that term that having a long shower in the morning cleared her mind miraculously. She let the water streams tap relaxingly her face for a few moments before she sighed and turned the tap off. While she was drying herself with one of the fluffy blue towels she favoured, she caught her sight in the full body mirror. When she realized how detached she felt from her own image, she decided to approach it.

Her hair, still damp, was still the same as it always had, thought perhaps a bit longer that she had worn it through the last years. Her body, after an awkward development, appeared to have finally reached its equilibrium the previous summer, although a little fuller than Hermione would have liked. She wasn't exactly fat, she realized, but her constitution provided her with – well – curves that she wasn’t truly comfortable with and that the loose and unfitting Hogwarts robes didn't improve at all. If at least I were taller... She though, ruefully.

Her eyes focused then on her face. She thought she looked tired and the frown of worry that had lately become a semi permanent fixture returned to her face. Well, you couldn't exactly feel safe while actively immersed in a war.

A mreep from her familiar made her aware of the time she had wasted with her reflection. Shaking her head at her unexpected bout of frivolity – there were far more important things to worry about – she hurried to prepare for the day without another glance.

 

* * *

When she arrived the Great Hall, her friends were yet to make an appearance at the breakfast table. _They'll be late_ , she prophesied humorously, spotting Lavender at the end of the table. Seeing a big empty spot at the blond girl's side, Hermione directed her steps towards her, greeting a few of cheerful first and second years she had met because of her duties as Head Girl.

Lavender, however, barely lifted her head to give her a nod when Hermione sat next to her. _What has her knickers into a twist now?_ she thought resignedly, divided between what she felt was her obligation as a Gryffindor prefect and her tiredness. Lavender usually barely acknowledged her except whenever she and Parvati argued and Hermione was a readily available recipient of lamentations, but even her wasn't beyond a good morning greeting. A second glance at Lavender's face tipped the balance. Something about Lavender was just off. 

“Morning, Lav. Was this seat occupied? Mind if I seat with you?”

“Oh, no. It's alright.” So that wasn’t it. However her last word had been said with near relief.

Hermione decided on the direct approach.

“It’s something wrong?” She asked, not quite surprised when Lavender stiffened and looked up at her suspiciously. Hermione met her eyes with a slightly concerned look and the other girl seemed to relax.

“No. Not really. It’s just that I haven’t been able to sleep well for a few days and I guess it is taking its toll.”

“Oh, how so?” Hermione asked lightly while picking a juice jug. She was rewarded by Lavender looking nervously around to bent slightly over the table and whisper.

“I keep having a dream. A nightmare, rather. The same, night after night.” Hermione barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. So it was just some of the spiritual nonsense Lavender had been immersed on since their third year. Meanwhile, the young woman in question kept talking, although hesitantly. “In the... nightmare, there’s an old man and a woman - a blond girl, she must be our age. They are trapped in a very dark room. They struggle to make light, a whitish flame. They are hungry, I feel the emptiness in my own stomach, and I feel faint.” Her whisper, which had become frantic, stopped suddently “Then a dark shape groans, and I see a snake, then a goblin, then it turns into a key, then into a huge wolf, and when it turns to look at me, it tells me ''beware of the big bad wolf'' and- and I wake up,” she finished lamely, maybe realising how silly it sounded, but with a distressed look in her eyes.

Hermione watched her reflexively. It was poetic justice that all the nonsense they let Trelawney feed them would come back to bite them, but her reaction, and her obvious distress disturbed Hermione more than she liked to admit. However, what was her to do? _Act as a prefect_.

Hermione straightened up a bit, and tried to talk in a soothing voice. “Awful dream, then.” She made a pause, thinking. “Listen, Lavender, sometimes when we are stressed or something is bothering us, or sometimes even without a particular cause, our mind is overcome with information and deals with it by pouring the strayed thoughts into the dreams. For example, weren't you studying Lethiwolves in Care of Magical creatures? That might be the reason wolves appear in your dreams...” She lectured, trying to sound comforting.

"There are such things as prophetic dreams, you know?" Said Lavender defensively.

"Yes, I've read about them," replied Hermione, hurrying to assure the other girl that she believed her. "What I mean is that there are also dreams are just that, dreams, so you don’t need to try to extract a deep signification from each and every one of them. Some are just... normal," finished Hermione, conciliatory. Hermione sipped her juice trying not to fidget under the other girl's assessing gaze, knowing that Lavender was gauging her sincerity.

"I guess you’re right" Lavender sighed, not looking truly convinced but going back to her breakfast. "See you later, Hermione," she said after a while, sounding a little more like herself. Hermione frowned at her porridge for a few moments, lost in reflection, thought she was promptly interrupted by her friends arrival, making her day back to normal.

For the moment.

 

* * *

Normalcy was broken once again during her second lesson of the morning, Arithmancy, when a swift knock on the class door was followed with the whirling entrance of the former Potions Professor. Death-like silence imposed itself in the classroom at his entrance, earning him a look of surprise from Septima Vector – as she always had problems to quieten her pupils.

The Potions Master and now DADA teacher strode purpousedly through the room, only stopping opposite the Aritmancy teacher, where he bend his body just enough to whisper her a few sentences without risking being overheard. Meanwhile, the students seeing their most frightening teacher wasn’t paying attention to them, had initiated the movement of Hogwarts’ rumour mill.

“What do you reckon it has happened?”

“Perhaps Snape wants Vector to calculate the probability of Slytherin winning the House Cup.”

“What if has been some injury? Or an attack?” asked Ernie McMillan, turning in his desk beside Hermione with an anxious expression.

“Can’t be. Numbers don’t heal, silly,” retorted Seamus.

“What if they are - you know - together?” whispered Parvati, seated with Seamus just behind Hermione.

“Urgh,” aported Seamus.

“Nonense, the Git doesn’t have it in him,” replied Dean, with a guwaff, making Parvati giggle. However, Hermione huffed at this, attracting the group attention, and immediately realising her slip.

“What’s the matter?” Asked a still amused Dean.

She turned slightly towards them and opened her mouth, reddening, to say that she very much doubted he ‘didn’t have it in him’ and that it wasn’t a topic for them to discuss anyway, but was relieved of this by a impatient cough at her back, which made her head whip back to the teachers.

“If you are finished gaping, Miss Granger, and you find into yourself to torn your attention from this undoubtly fascinating discussion, you are to come with me,” said her DADA teacher dryly. As she was still watching him, seemingly confused, he prompted sharply, “now.”

“O- of course, sir,” she stuttered, quickly packing her things.

He was waiting by her desk, surveying her classmates suspiciously, who had become even paler than the Potions master himself and were carefully avoiding his eyes, fearful of having been overheard. When Hermione closed her bag and stood, nodding at the questioning look of her teacher, he turned sharply and exited the classroom, confident that she would follow him.

She caught up with him and had jog uncomfortably to keep with his stride. “Has something happened, sir? Where are we going?”

“We are going to the Headmaster’s office,” he answered curtly, ignoring her first question.

She compressed her lips, reckoning she shouldn’t press the point, but annoyed at his rudeness, nonetheless. The glare she sent him in reproach dissolved at seeing – really seeing – his face. He was paler than usual, with near-purple smudges under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept the night before. Even though his expression was blank as usual and he conduced himself with his characteristic sureness and determination, the fatigue seemed to seep into his features through every wrinkle.

However, just when Hermione was about to ask if he was okay – forgetting her previous decision of not ask any more – they reached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster office.

“ _Caramelised almonds_ ,” he whispered and, to Hermione’s surprise, motioned her to enter before him, in an unusual chivalrious gesture.

 _Something is definitely off today_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "Lethiwolf" is a creature I made up completely. I fancy they could be regular wolves that roam through forests and whose bites makes the people forget how to go back home.


	4. Another Unusual Meeting

When she entered the Headmaster's office, her concern increassed exponentially at also seeing there her Head of House. Her mind quickly searched for an infraction which merited such formality.

“Er... Good Morning, professor Dumbledore, professor McGonagall.”

“Good morning, Miss Granger. Please, take a seat,” said the Headmaster smiling reassuringly, even if his countenance had been grave.

She sat, alarmed at seeing Snape take another armchair on her right instead of leaving. _Order business, then? Without Harry and Ron?_

“I wish we could meet in other circumstances, but this time I have requested your presence because of an extraordinarily grave situation we find ourselves into,” she paled worryingly as a thought struck.

“Are my parents okay?”

"Your parents are perfectly fine. It is nothing that dire," said Dumbledore with a slight smile, producing a cup of tea in front of Hermione. " However, I’m afraid that time is not something we have to spare, so I’ll try to be brief and I beg you to listen until I finish. Tom Riddle has managed to have a new law passed. It is called the ‘Muggleborn Integration Act’, of which you have a copy here," he said, handing her a roll of parchment, "In this act Muggleborn wizards and witches over seventeen are instructed to marry if petitioned by a Pureblood under penalty of permanent expulsion of the Wizarding World.” The Headmaster paused briefly, letting his words sink. "It also specifies that if a muggleborn were to be petitioned but only by halfbloods, a Commision in the Ministry created specifically to this purpose would choose which one is better for the ‘integrations purpouses’ of the law. Knowing Tom has enough influence in the Ministry to get a law passed it’s not preposterous to presupone he may have also power enough to choose the members of said Commission-”

“But, I won’t necessarily be petitioned," blurted Hermione, unable to keep quiet any longer. That couldn't be true, it sounded so ridiculous... "I’m just a muggleborn student. There must be most menacing targets...”

“We are aware of some well known muggleborns Voldemort would like to overpower, but we are certain you will also be a main target. In definitive, my dear child, we must avoid at all costs you being subjected to this marriage law because as soon as it applies, the Death Eaters, eager to please his Master will seek to - ah - get you under control.”

While the Headmaster talked, she had been quickly scanning the parchment and analising the implications. There wasn’t any obvious escape, and she was not only a muggleborn, but a confirmed objective of the Dark Lord... The only way out was to go back to the muggle world and go into hiding.

_As if..._

Not only she wouldn’t risk her parents life like that, but she would never let Harry and Ron down. So that meant she would have to marry a pureblood... but whom?

 _Ron, s_ upplied her mind quickly. Yes, it could work... they would remain at Harry’s side no matter what, and their secrets would be safe. But she was going too far... Ron and her had only flirted during the previous year, but had left it there, and now he seemed to have his lips permanently stuck to Lavender's. With a pang Hermione realised she had always thought, deep down, that Lavender was a distraction and they would end up together, but now...

She could feel tears forming and she struggled to keep her breathing calm. Hush, girl, calm down. There was nothing for it now, and there must be a good reason the Headmaster was convoking her then; he must have found a solution, for sure...

A movement on the corner of her eye reminded her of the other occupants of the room. What was Professor Snape doing here, by the way?

“But... what do we do? Can you keep it from passing?” She asked instead, acquiring quickly a defeated air at seeing the Headmaster shake his head slowly, regretful. “I am afraid I can not do that, my dear, but there is a way to keep you from falling into Voldemort’s hands while helping the Order at the same time, and also being free to help Harry.” Snape made a jerky movement, that gave Hermione an excuse to send him an enquiring look. He was looking at something on Dumbledore's stands and seemed to be unaware of the conversation going on around him.

“ I’ll do it," she said, inwardly shrugging and turning her attention back to Dumbledore. "I’ll do whatever necessary to being able to keep helping Harry,” she stated. _Get your priorities straight, Granger. Harry's mission, first. Love life, second_.

“You’d better listen first, foolish girl! You still haven’t got the slightest idea of what mess you are into nor the grave consecuences that will come from your decision at this point,” snapped the silent Potions Master, startling her. _So he was paying attention after all,_ she thought, bad-humorously.

“I apologise if my words seemed rash, Professor Snape, but I did mean each and every of them,” she said, still addressing Dumbledore - she had never talked back to Snape before. However, to her surprise, instead of exploding, the Potions Master remained silent. She risked a glance, then, and most uncharacteristically, he didn't meet her eyes. McGonagall was still looking grim.

“Words worthy of a true Gryffindor, indeed," said Dumbledore with a hint of pride in his voice, "but, alas, Professor Snape is right in suggesting patience.” Hermione felt herself reddening slightly. “As you have undoubtedly read on the act, it will become legal this very night at midnight. So after that moment you will be unable to marry anyone but a pureblood wizard when petitioned by one. But before that, before the 24:00 of tonight, you are free to marry whomever you choose, pureblooded or not.” He enunciated clearly.

“I understand, sir, but I still don’t see-” _Not Harry, he can’t be thinking in Harry!_ The Headmaster stalled her with a hand.

“There’s still something you need to consider. As I have mentioned, the passing of this law has been not only supported, but created within Voldemort’s circle and by Voldemort himself and as such, he expect his followers to endorse it by controlling a number of specific targets he has signalled.” He made a small pause and Snape shuffled again at her right. “I’m sure you have figured by now Professor Snape’s role in the Order...”

She nodded with uncertainty. What the hell was going on there?

“Good. Then you know Professor Snape position within Voldemort ranks is too important to let it go to waste, and to sustain it he would probably be subjected to this law too, under Tom's orders. However, his secrets are vital not only for our cause, but for his survival. A simple slip in front of his ‘wife’, even if she’s not a death eater herself, would lead him directly to his demise. Do you see my reasoning now, miss Granger?” Asked Dumbledore softly but evenly.

Hermione’s thoughts were racing, her eyes lowered and unfocussed and her heart beating at an alarming speed. Surely he wasn’t implying what she thought he was. _I, married to a teacher! Breathe, girl, breathe._ She had to be reading it wrong again; just a minute before she had thought he was talking about Harry. Which was completely out of the question, as he was just a half-blood... Wait, was Snape a Pureblood even? She racked her brain for information, but came up empty. 

“Are you alright, miss Granger?” asked then a concerned Headmaster. Apparently she had been quiet for too long.

“Just fine sir, I just... I need a moment” she managed to say lamely, hating herself for sounding so feeble. She was supposed to be a capable and intelligent young woman, a Gryffindor, for God’s sake! With a deep breath, she straightened her spine slowly and met the Headmaster’s eyes steadily – she really wasn’t ready to confront her Head of House yet, let alone her DADA teacher. She took a sip of tea, trying to appear calm, and the warm liquid seemed to clear her head.

It did made sense, somehow. Kill two birds with a single stone. She would be safe with professor Snape and he, in turn, would be safe marrying her, as she would keep his secrets. Yes, it sounded logical. In paper, that is. But to apply it to the real life... _Married to a teacher!_ Kept repeating, meanwhile, a primly and outraged part of her mind.

She had to ask.

"Is Professor Snape a Pureblood then?" she asked, still studiously not looking to her right, where a dark figure was so unnaturally still that Hermione could _feel it_.

"Professor Snape is in the room at present," he snapped icily.

"He is not, Miss Granger," answered Dumbledore, ignoring his Potions Master "He is what is commonly referred as a Half-Blood."

Her heart lifted for a moment but then the other shoe dropped ‘before that, before the 12:00 of tonight, you are free to marry whomever you choose, pureblooded or not.’

"Oh," she said, blanching alarmingly. So not only was she supposed to marry him, but it had to be done that very day. “I understand your reasoning sir. It... makes sense, I guess,” she managed to say while her mind went into chaos, stray thoughts going back an forth, but none of them making sense any more, except for the striking, painful realisation that she and Ron would never ever happen.

“I see. I feel compelled to assure you that neither myself nor Professor Snape nor Professor McGonagall have been able to reach any better solution, since it is illegal to marry underaged wizards.”

Oh, so that was what excluded Ron. His birthday was more than a month away, not that there was any chance of them sorting things anytime soon, she reminded herself.

“If you find another viable alternative," continued the Headmaster, "please inform me as soon as possible. As it stands, I wish I could offer enough time to reflect on it... but I am afraid I am in no position to grant you even that. I will relieve you of today’s lessons, as I want to give you a few hours to think about it. But before you leave there is still one more thing you should consider.” Hermione felt like fainting, what else could possibly happen? “I’m not sure if you are familiar with the wizarding traditions about marriage.”

She shook her head unashamedly. After all, she hadn’t expected to need information of that sort until much later in her life.

“Well, there are two main forms of getting married, legally or magically. Nowadays the most common form of marriage is the former. That kind of union involves a ministry official and it’s not unlike muggle marriages. They can be dissolved by just tearing the register papers by mutual consent. The other type, however, not only creates an archive in the ministry stating the union, but employs magic to bound the couple. This bound acts not unlike magical oaths, each of them focused on different aspects of the married life, such as fidelity, caring, obedience, protection, loyalty... These are chosen by the groom and bride, who have to cast them at the ceremony instead the common vows.” “If you want more information about them, this book could be helpful.” He said producing a book from his drawers. “For any other question, Professor McGonagall will be in her office until lunch, and Professor Snape will have a free afternoon.” Her Head of House nodded supportingly while Snape regarded her neutrally. “Think carefully about everything I have told you... and value carefully the advantages and adequacies of each of the options laid before you.” Added Dumbledore tilting his head slightly towards the book in his extended arm. Hermione reached carefully for the book, and nodded numbly. “I expect you to let me know of your decision before six o’clock this afternoon, to give us time to take the proper actions.

Hermione nodded again, not quite trusting her words.

“See you later, Miss Granger.”

“Until later, Headmaster. Professors,” she said, promptly reaching the door, eager to get out of the office.

* * *

 

She hurried through the corridors to reach the room of requirements before she collapsed. By the time the door of the room appeared, she was shaking, exhaling shuddering breaths, that only intensified when she opened the door; what was waiting on the other side was a airy, lilac and small bedroom with white furniture and curtains and purple linens. Her childhood bedroom.

After a few minutes of shedding hysterical tears the logical part of her brain started working again. Let’s face it rationally, she told herself. But try as she might, she ended up reaching the same conclusion of the Headmaster’s. However unlikely, that solution would solve both hers and Professor Snape's problems.

Still, she knew she could find a way out... thought maybe not one able to ‘save’ Snape at the same time. Could she leave him behind?

No, not after all he has done for all of us. However, Harry's suspicions started to weigh heavily on her. What if he was right?

 _As he had been right in our first year? As he had been right not trusting Snape's Occlumency lessons?_   She shook her head. She couldn't judge Snape based on Harry's suspicions.

But surely there had to be another solution for him... _Unlikely,_ she answered herself. The Headmaster wouldn’t have proposed something so absurd if it wasn’t the best course of action. Or the only course of action.

 _Then the answer is clear, isn’t it?_   She was going to marry Snape.

She took a shuddering breath, anxiety pooling in her stomach. Snape, Professor Snape, Severus Snape, the Greasy Git, Slytherin, Head of Slytherin, Death Eater, Spy...

She respected him, though not his teaching methods, and respected his intellect, though not his piercing words and biased ways. She knew, intellectually, that she could trust him, but she also was scared shitless of him. He was a dangerous, disagreable man and a bully, with a knack for cruelty and a profound knowledge of the Dark Arts, never mind poisons... And he hated her.

She shook her head and smiled lightly.

_Dumbledore would have his bollocks if he let something happening to me, let alone Harry and Ron..._

She sobered at that thought. Telling her best friends wasn’t an experience she was looking forward.

She sighed, much calmer once the decision had been made, and her eyes rested on the green leather book Dumbledore had given her. She still needed much information, and this book was a good place to start. Later she would have to talk with McGonagall and her ‘fiancé’.

With that, she took a piece of paper and a ballpen from ‘her’ desk, opened the book and started reading “The easy Path to Happiness. Choosing the Perfect Vows”. Fifteen minutes later Hermione surprised herself thinking that in other circumstances she would have thoroughly enjoyed the book. Alright, it was plagued of pompous and frilly adjectives picturing eternal love, but the introductory chapter about the mechanisms of magical bindings was fascinating.

_"Any magical vow is composed by three levels: Intent, Formulation, Consequences. The mechanism is the following one: the caster focuses his/her will and formulates a requirement, freeing the flow of magic. This flow must be channelled to the recipient with a conductive magical element [see chapter four: channellers] and under the supervision of a bonder, who will keep the magical proof of the vow. That is why some unbreakable vows have been said to be broken when the bonder dies."_

So the unbreakable vow might not be unbreakable after all... she had to make sure to tell Harry - if he ever consented to speak to her again. She kept reading.

_"In case the vow only affected the caster, there would only be necessary a bonder or witness to make the vow effective._

_The consequences of breaching the stated and accepted condition are usually chosen by the caster and must be accepted both by the caster and the recipient. However they have only proven effective if the casting has been done properly and the channellers are in perfect condition at the moment of the infraction, since the punishment will come from the magical properties of these materials. There are mainly three types of proceedings._

_I. The classical Wizarding Oaths, in which there’s only required the caster and a witness. These Oaths, though highly unrecommendable, are possible without a proper channeller because of two reasons:_

_1) The vower and recipient are the same person, and don’t require a magical link between them._

_2) The ‘punishment’, though different for each individual, are always of a physiological nature, (e.g. pulmonar contractions who dificult breathing or taquicardia) so the magical essence and energy required to it comes from the very body._

_II. The bows in which the Intent, Formulation and Consequences are stated by the caster and the recipient only complies with them. In this instance is the caster who determines in which cases he considers the vow broken or fulfilled. The more infamous of its kind are the Unbreakable Vow. Enough to say that in this case the bonder only acts as a magic channel and the recipient and the magic of the punishment would come from our inner magical source, which in this case is drained automatically, unlike the Wizarding Oaths, which only use a small part of it. The Unbreakable Vow defiles the sacred nature of bounds, that is remind the weak soul to act accordingly our purest beliefs, not determine life and death.’_

_III. The marriage vows, which are the maximum exponents of the branch of vows and the highest commitments of souls we, magical beings, are able to perform. In these vows the Intent and energy necessary come from two people instead of one, although the consequences are centered on the caster who formulates the conditions. As it is, while the channeler remains active (which usually is until the demise of one of the casters) these two people would enjoy of a magical link which will made possible for them to know different aspects of the condition of his/her partner. These bondings are the perfect expression of the nature of vows, as they are absolutely sincere and count with a careful formulation, unlike the rashness of the Wizarding Oaths. Their principal mission is also of the highest importance, as it permit the groom, bride and family to be assured of the good intentions of the couple towards each other. What is more filling for the heart than the sight of a innocent and beautiful bride pledge publicly her fidelity to her husband..?"_

Hermione, tears long forgotten, couldn’t help but snort at that. So that was the true purpose of the vows, to reassure a old man of the fidelity of his nubile wife. _Machist pigs!_ She shook her head and skimmed through the rest of the chapter, which seemed to focus on the exhaltation of marriage from that point onwards, until she decided she had read what she needed to know. She closed the book, then, and rolled on the bed to rest facing the lilac ceiling.

Why had Dumbledore given her that book? It wasn’t as if it was to be nothing more than a marriage of convenience... _And I’m certainly **not** pledging my fidelity to Snape! _

She chuckled. Not that he would want it, anyway.

She picked again the book and skimmed it until she reached chapter five _“The Traditional Vows_ ”. There were predetermined formulations of vows for fidelity, obedience - _I don't think so! -_ , respect - _maybe I should insist he makes one of this -_ , care, protection, loyalty... She wrinkled her nose. Imagine anyone forced to act according to all those things due to a compulsion, even if she hated the very sigh of her husband!

She still didn’t understood what possessed Dumbledore to give her this book. She was going to have a simple marriage of convenience an be done with it. Was this a way to make her have the upper hand? If she insisted in Snape taking, for example, a protection oath, or a loyalty one, he would have to accept it. But it would be absolutely unfair from her and from the Headmaster. _So there must be another reason..._

Her eyes rested on the clock over her desk. She had spend more than an hour browsing the book, and decided to clear her mind talking to her Head of House. If someone was able to face things calmly and shed the light of reason onto a problem, that was Minerva McGonagall.


	5. Chapter 5

McGonagall’s office door was half open when Hermione Granger approached it five minutes later. Its owner, at seeing Hermione’s head peeking from the door, raised from her seat behind the huge oak desk.

“Come in, Hermione. I was waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Professor. I wanted to ask you some things about the book, if you don’t mind...”

“Of course. Follow me, please.” Said McGonagall while gesturing towards a door Hermione had never noticed before. “We, the teachers, have our little secrets too.” Smiled briefly McGonagall at seeing her pupil’s surprise. “I reckon it would be less ...uncomfortable... for both of us to treat this matter outside a classroom environment. You may call me Minerva when in private, by the way.”

With those words the elder woman opened the door and motioned Hermione to go inside a cosy room with a small fireplace, a coffee table and two tartan-covered armchairs.

“Thank you, Minerva. I...” Hermione stopped, not really knowing how to respond. Thankfully, Minerva seemed to sense her unease and relieved her from having to continue.

“Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

The sounds of clinking porcelain and pouring of water helped Hermione to order her ideas and get a grip on herself. So, when she acepted, grateful, the cup her mentor profered has decided what she was going to say.

“I don’t intend to be rude, but since I – we – are short of time, I’ll go right to the point. I’ve skimmed through the book Professor Dumbledore gave me. I understand the power of the vows and how they work, but to be honest I don’t know why would he give me that book.” She took a deep breath and, seeing McGonagall’s simpathetic face was actually interested in listening her, she couldn’t help but blurt all her doubts. “I mean, it would be a marriage of convenience. Why risk it becoming more permanent? Why does he want me to ‘think about it’? And what is Professor Snape position in all this mess? He’s not actually affected by this law! Of course, I’m more than grateful towards him for giving me a ‘way out’ but I honestly don’t see why would he go this far just to protect me? He doesn’t even like me! And how I would ever repay him?” She ended with something akin to desperation seeping into her voice.

Minerva took a sip of her cup and placed it calmly on the coffee table before confronted the nervous Hermione.

“I take it you have decided to marry Severus?” At her tight nod, she continued. “I can’t express how proud I’m of you. If there was a better option–” She cleared her throat. “I’ll give you all the answers which are in my power to give.”

“First of all, you should be aware that this ‘arrangement’...” She pronounced the word as if tasting something disgusting “... is as much for Severus’ ‘benefit’ as it is for yours.”

“But...”

“While your are correct in thinking that he isn’t directly affected by the law, you have overlooked his role as double agent. You-Know-Who is behind the act, and he is going to play his pawns accordingly. He has even hinted Professor Snape’s possible participation. With Severus marrying an Order member, he secures his secrets and doesn’t risk the possibility of getting in an even more complex situation. And all without blowing his cover. Now, he could aduce Dumbledore was caught unawares, got scared, and forced him into it. But, wouldn’t it be too much of a coincidence that just the moment Voldemort ordered Severus marry anybody else Dumbledore decided to marry him also?” The older woman paused to clear her throat and forced a grim but understanding smile. “That at least evens the field a little, doesn’t it?”

Hermione managed a small smile, as she did felt a little relieved about it. She didn’t want to think about the morality of feeling relieved because of knowing other’s already difficult situation was even more so.

“Now, about that book... there’s a reason for you to consider a magical ceremony. I guess neither Professor Dumbledore nor Professor Snape wanted to make you feel even more pressured, but I think you are mature enough to handle it, and in for a knut in for a galleon. A legal marriage can be easily dissolved. You only have to tear a piece of paper. A magical marriage, however, cannot be dissolved without...”

“The approval of both parties and the presence of the bonder,” recited Hermione, realising what was expected of her.

“Exactly, always supposing that said bonder was powerful enough.”

“But the vows are barbaric! You couldn’t possibly expect me to vow total obedience and submission! Not to Professor Snape, not to anybody else!” Replied an indignant Hermione.

Minerva McGonagall couldn’t help but smile proudly at her fierceness.

“Of course not, child. It isn’t exactly like that. It is true those ‘barbaric vows’ were employed until the end of the XVIII century, but nowadays – except in a few archaic pureblood ceremonies – the vows are modified so that they express only the intent of the bonded at the moment. They cease to be true vows, but still summon enough magic to found a solid magical union. They are still relatively easy to disolve, though...”

“They won’t be enough, won’t they?”

“It’s a noticeably better option than the legal one.”

“But not the best. Then, how is that ‘it isn’t exactly like that’?” Hermione said, hating that her voice sounded slightly shrill.

“If – and this is a very hypotethical ‘if’ – both of you decided to employ one of these vows – mind you, only one, and with your own formulation – it would form a strong and full bond between you two, while retaining most of your integrity, if not all. It wouldn’t interfere in your feelings of natural reactions, but it would emphatically warn both of you when you are about to willingly break the vow you have made. In compensation, that same magic would help both of you to fullfil your bows.”

“How so?”

“Usually the warning comes in the shape of physical discomfort, usually breathing difficulty or nausea. The help...” Here Minerva shrugged. “It depends. For example, it is known that when a person under the fidelity vow is about to be unfaithful, his/her partner ‘in crime’ starts to feel a mild sting all around the body, that when ignored becomes an extremely unconfortable rash. Although it is not the best example, it is a powerful incentive...”

While her professor was talking, Hermione’s anxiety augmented up until the point were she was starting to feel sick. _This just too much,_ her mind repeated, desperately, _I can't possibly do this._

“... I hate to burden you further with this...” continued McGonagall, who had been observing the pattern of the fire for a while. “...but it is plainly wrong to keep you in the dark about it.” When her gaze focused once again in her so very young pupil, looking so obviously distressed, something snapped inside Minerva McGonagall. She hammered her glass back to the table forcefully, making the rest of the amber liquid splash widely around. “Oh, Damn it! You shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

An awkward silence followed the explosion of the usually demured woman, whose lips were pressed together seemingly to avoid more swearing coming through. Her angry gaze was back to the fire, intending to give the younger woman enough privacy to compose herself. Hermione’s, in turn, was directed to a trebol-shaped spot on the carpet she wasn’t really seeing while trying to assimilate everything.

“How do you feel?” Asked eventually a concerned McGonagall, when they both had calmed noticeably.

“I’m a little overwhelmed. This is... Well, I didn’t expect anything like this.” Hermione confessed – her voice breaking slightly – looking at her hands on her lap. “But I’ll do what’s necessary to help. To keep me alive. To keep him alive.”

When she lifted her head, her face shone with grim determination, and not a single trace of fear.

Minerva nodded, resigned, and waved her wand to clean the mess she had created, unknowingly erasing the trebol-like spot too.

“Let’s pick which vows we could use, and work on formulations, then. We’ll see if we can mesure up to that red-eyed snake and his so called cunning mind.”


	6. Confronting the Other Half of the Problem

After the long and exhausting conversation with her Head of House, Hermione felt, if not more enthusiastic towards the groom nor the upcoming wedding, at least less helpless. Now she knew the whole picture, she had thought, analysed every nuance, and planned the best course of action. The suffoccating sensation of helplessness had receeded, and she felt able to confront the rest of the world and the normalcy she was abandoning with fortitude.

This has also been her decision. She was doing this for Snape, for the Order, and for herself – although perhaps not in that exact order. Those were difficult times, and that simply had to be done. And she would do it.

Those thoughts were the ones her mind was entertaining while her body unknowingly carried her towards the Great Hall in time to pick something to eat. Fortunately, arriving just a few minutes before the end of the lunch, she didn’t meet any of her friends nor any Housemate close enough to her to ask her about her misterious ‘detention’ with Snape.

Fifteen minutes later, after her rather unsuccessful attempt at eating, she found herself staring Professor Snape’s office’s door and the force of her determined internal monologue had dimmed noticeably.

It was ridiculous to be so anxious of knocking. It was just a door, and behind it, there was just a man. A pretty scary one, but a man nonetheless. And an ally.

Another minute passed by, however, until the sound of steps coming her way propelled her to action and she finally knocked and entered the room.

The picture that greeted her was so very _normal_ that she felt disconcerted. Severus Snape was behind his desk in his office marking papers, as if nothing unusual was occuring.

“Don’t stare, Miss Granger, is unbecoming, as well as impolite.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Managed finally Hermione, kicking herself. She had wanted to appear poised and, above all, mature. Determined to regain control of the situation, she approached his desk calmly and sat without wating for an invitation. “Good afternoon to you too, sir.”

He lifted his gaze from the parchments and pierced her with his gaze, clearly about to take her to task for her cheek.

“Professor Dumbledore said you would be available this afternoon to discuss our... situation,” hurried Hermione, trying to avoid an argument. He lifted a reproving eyebrow, which clearly indicated he had seen through her machination, but he seemed to let it pass.

“He did. What do you want to talk about?”

Hermione took a deep breath.

“First, I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.” That made both his eyebrows lift in surprise. “I would like to know what is your position in all this... mess.”

“I see. Well, I would say it is obvious I agree with the Headmaster’s general assessment of the situation, given that I didn’t contradict him when he explained said situation to you.”

“General assessment?”

“General assessment. The Dark Lord has identified you as Harry Potter’s close friend and wants you under his thumb. Therefore you must be protected. At the moment I’m in the best position to protect you. In addition it might be useful for me to be exempt of the law in the future.” He frowned. “I thought all this was clear.”

“It is. I meant to ask what are your feelings on the matter... you seem so very calm.”

“And pray tell, what would you say my feelings are?” He said with dulcet tones. “Did you expect me to be sulking in my dungeon and moaning about how cruel is the world? Or perhaps you thought I would be ecstatic to have the chance of marrying you?” He snarled with his lip curled in derision.

She flushed with indignation.

“Of course not! I ask you because if you think your position with him is safe and are doing this only under the Headmaster orders, I’d rather know and find another solution for myself.”

“Do you really think you would be able to find a better solution than the one the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall and myself together did? Do not flatter yourself, Miss Granger,” he said, dismissive.

This time his blush was more of embarrassment than anger. She pressed her lips together.

“Besides,” he continued in a calmer tone “ it is true that it is likely that my position will be in jeopardy. I wouldn’t have agreed to this plan otherwise.”

“So you agree it’s the best solution.”

“It’s the only plausible solution.”

Hermione realised she had been somehow hoping he would suggest an alternative. She took a deep breath. Be brave now, girl.

“Ok, I just wanted to be sure. Then we have to talk about the vows.”

“Pardon me?” he blurted, visibly startled.

She tried not to bask in the fact that she had managed to surprise the imperturbable man twice in the same meeting.

“The vows. I’ve had a long chat with Professor McGonagall, and she explained how they would benefit us.” She breathed deeply once again. “I am willing to take one, if you take one in return.”

A silence ensued.

“Have you lost your mind?” he exploded.

“No, professor. Hear me out, please,” she talked urgently, taking no heed of his murderous expression. “We agreed that they would strenghten the union and difficult its dissolution by any third party. We formulated two vows which would both assure your secrets and my protection without interfering in our lives... much. Why else would Dumbledore give me the book?”

By the time she finished talking he was pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression. He muttered something that sounded distinctly like 'interfering old goats' and looked at Hermione once more, enunciating slowly.

“You mean to tell me you want me to take a vow of protection?”

She nodded.

“A modified one.”

“And which one would you take? A vow of obedience?” He asked, incredulity clear in his voice.

“Of course not! My vow would be of loyalty,” she stated with aplomb.

He clenched his jaw and turned his head towards one of the jar-filled walls.

She seized the rare oportunity to study his profile. It was sharp, decisive and agressive. There was some lines around his eyes, and his pale skin was gaunt, sticking to his cheekbones. She suddently had the irrefrenable urge to offer him the pasties she had taken from the great hall to eat later. She bit her lip to held back a snort.

He turned again.

“Show me the formulations.”

Refraining herself from tsking at his rudeness, she handed him a parchment. "We came up with several viable alternatives, but that one is the-"

He waved away her explanations.

“Has Dumbledore seen this?”

“No, but it was he who gave me the book... and the idea.”

He kept reading in silence.

“So? What do you think?” Hermione prompted.

“I’ll talk to the Headmaster, but... it could work,” he admitted grudgingly.

Hermione smiled slightly. He threw her a disapproving look, then turned back to the parchment.

“You should stop feeling so smug and start reconsidering the consequences of this," he said, waving the parchment meaningfully. "Even if you do feel a certain ‘loyalty’ towards me now - which I sincerely doubt - what you actually know of me and my... ' _work_ ' is, believe me, insignificant," he said, apparently picking his words with care. "New developments or new intelligence you may acquire while in your new - ah - _situation_ may very well change your opinion of me. Trust me in this.” He stood up. “If there’s nothing else, I will see you later. Consider my words carefully until then, Miss Granger. You still have a choice.”

She took it as her indication to leave, and nodded, a bit unsettled.

 “Until later, Professor.”


	7. Interlude: the Ceremony

_Thursday, January 9th. Evening._

 

Severus Snape classified his days in three categories: dull, horrid and catastrophic.

The first one designated most of his days as a school teacher: faces changed, but the pupils insisted in making the same exact mistakes year after year. If he didn't have so little faith in their imagination, he would have thought it to be a large-scale conspiracy.

Horrid days had been scarce for a few years, but had increased exponentially with Potter's arrival to school, and once again after the Dark Lord reunited with his followers. The catastrophic ones where few and far between - he had a personal count of six - and signaled those decisive events which had made his life take a turn, usually, for the worst.

While a Death Eater meeting generally upgraded a 'dull' day to 'horrid', and precluded another horrid one - nobody enjoyed facing the judging eyes of some of your colleagues when they saw a new death or dissappearance in the paper - he was coming to realise with sinking certainty that _that_ very day could very well turn to be one of the catastrophic ones.

After Dumbledore's exceptional proclamation that him marrying a student - the muggleborn Granger, no less - was their best move against the Dark Lord's latest daft scheme, he had been too busy finding a way to explain to the Dark Lord - and survive the meeting - to reflect on anything else. Several hours later, having accomplished that, he was sprawled in his favourite armchair, back in his quarters, still trying to make sense of what he had gotten himself into.

The bonding itself had consisted in little more than reciting the formulae Granger had shown him that afternoon and signing a couple of papers. As much as it pained him to admit it, her vow of loyalty had been quite helpful in mollifying the Dark Lord, although it still couldn't be said he had taken the news very well. Then again, a couple of rounds of cruciatus was nothing he hadn't gone through before and would hopefully leave no after-effects, although his muscles were complaining at the moment. Loudly.

His eyes fell on a cylinder-shaped package in the small pile of presents and summoned it to the armchair he was sitting in, hoping it contained an alcoholic beverage of some sort. It was a bottle of Scotch's. He snorted. _Minerva's, of course_.

He reckoned he also had Minerva to thank for the girl _not_ wearing school robes. The thought of being forced to marry a student had been unpalatable enough; he hadn't needed the reminder in front of him during the bonding. He was bonded to Granger, to a student. A muggleborn student that was underaged in the muggle world. Was she aware of that? Of course she was.

He took a swig, deciding to forego the glass.

For some reason thinking about the specific person of Hermione Granger - calling her _'Snape_ ' didn't even cross his mind - felt somehow worse than thinking about a generic student. It was still marginally better than reflecting on the only other student present at the ceremony. _Potter, of course it had to be Potter_. And Dumbledore, for some unfathomable reason, had decided the boy should be their bonder. If Destiny existed, it had a twisted sense of humour.

The only consolation Severus found was the fact that it had clearly been the last place on earth Potter had wanted to be. He wondered briefly how she had managed to convince the boy to attend at all.

Another swig.

The moment the headmaster had declared they were done, he recalled, she had thrown herself into Potter's arms as if it was the end of the world. He hadn't stayed to watch any longer.

 _She didn't have to appear that damned unhappy, for God's sake_ _._ It had been just a formality. _So she wouldn't be able to snog Potter visibly for a few months... what a tragedy,_ he thought uncharitably.

It probably wouldn't even be that long - it was unlikely the conflict would last more than a couple of years and chances were he would not live through it anyway...

He took another healthy gulp.

Be it as it may, the fact was they were stuck together, for the time being. He was married, had a wife. The thoughts felt so foreign to him... he had never even considered he would ever marry. He had assumed long ago he never would be interested, and couldn't fathom any situation in which anyone would take an interest in him. And in his position he would have a further hard time trying to ascertain if the other person had genuine interest in him or had ulterior motives.

A sudden thought made him snort. Well, at least he knew for certain that _she_ had ulterior motives and that _she_ wasn't interested. At all.

_And wait until tomorrow the Headmaster tells her she is to live with me in my quarters._

He realised that, in a way, that was his last night of solitude. He looked around his quarters, taking in the dark full bookshelves, the lack of ornaments and the dark stone walls, barely perceivable in the semi-darkness. And they didn't look much lighter during the day, with the greenish eerie light coming from the window under the lake.

 _She will hate this_ , he concluded with detachment, taking another swig.

After a few more minutes lost in morose thoughts he made his way into his bedroom, stumbling onto his bed. As he fought to get under the blankets, he silently thanked the Gods the next day was Friday, which meant he didn’t have lessons first thing in the morning and, better yet, he didn’t have to face _her_ until late in the afternoon.

A thought flashed swiftly through his head, and he blinked to the dark ceiling.

"Happy birthday, Severus," he said to the dark room.

Of course, nobody answered. 


	8. Announcements

Hermione woke next day with a terrible headache. For a few blissful seconds she was unaware of everything that had happened the day before, intent in struggling out of bed and finding her wand. However, the roll of parchment she knocked in her haste - her marriage certificate - made everything come back.

 _Not just a nightmare, then_ , she groaned, after scanning the parchment. And that day was the day both the marriage law and her own marriage were to be announced. _Cheers_.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath. She got out of the bed, took an ibuprofen and made her daily routine.

For once, Harry had apparently woken first and was waiting for her in the common room, looking as uneasy as she felt. Hermione smiled gratefully. He nodded grimly, and squeezed her hand in return, apparently not feeling up for a smile. Hermione wondered briefly when he had grown up, but then she saw the pijama shirt peeking under his jumper and realised he probably still hadn't, not really. She promised herself she would always remember this, specially when he next acted as a git.

"Can we go to the owlery first?" she asked as they were climbing out of the portrait door.

"Sure," agreed Harry all too quickly, clearly not looking forward going to the Great Hall either.

"It's my parents," explained Hermione. "I don't know if they still receive the paper, but just in case..."

"What are you going to tell them?" asked Harry, shifting uneasily.

"That the paper is printing lies again," she answered. She could feel him staring at her.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," she answered, her face turning stony, a glint of determination in her face. "This is just temporary, and they are worried enough already."

Twenty minutes later they were able to hear the noise coming out of the Great Hall from the first floor of the Great staircase. _So the owls have already arrived_. They hurried towards the door, nearly crashing into Lavender, who was running in the opposite direction.

The loud chorus of angry voices was coming mainly from three of the big tables, where most elders student were on their feet, milling around the few students holding a newspaper. The younger students, however, were either trying to get a peak whatever had the others fascinated or staring avidly to the Great Table, waiting for an explanation.

Owls were still flying over Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, waiting for the replies that some other students were scribbling furiously.

In constrast, Slytherin table remained mostly calm. The Slytherins appeared more curious than alarmed, which wasn’t really surprising, as they didn’t have any muggleborns.

Hermione and Harry however, were staring at the High table, where Sprout, Burbage and Flitwick were arguing heatedly with the Headmaster.

"I'd never thought I would see Flitwick angry," commented Harry, seemingly fascinated as golden sparks sizzled up the tiny wizard's pointy hat. Hermione only nodded absently, much more interested in Snape, despite herself. She had noticed his eyes following her as she entered the room, but now he was back to his breakfast and seemed impervious to the mayhem around him.

Ginny hurried towards them.

“Hermione, have you heard..?”

She nodded gravely.

Ginny enveloped her in a quick hug and then guided them back towards one of the groups in Gryffindor table. There they found a clearly distressed Dean Thomas surrounded by most of the House sixth years. _Oh, Dear_.

Immersed in her own problems, she had completely forgotten about her classmates. She watched horrified all the little groups formed in the different tables. _Dean Thomas, Justin Finch-Fletcher, Mary Williams, Alicia Spinnet, Lisa Connor..._

“Just how many of us are there?” She asked, suddenly nauseous.

Before anyone answered, they heard a loud explosion and quieted immediately. Then the Headmaster began to speak with a booming voice.

“Everybody return to your seats, please.” All the students complied quickly with only a small amount of shuffling and muttering.

“I see you are all aware of the new ‘Integration Law’... In case you haven’t read the entire article of the Prophet, it will only affect those of you who are both Muggleborn and above 17 years old, and only if some Pureblood petitions for you. In any case, all the sixth and seventh years are convoked here this afternoon at five o’clock, before dinner, in order to discuss the situation. I strongly recommend all the muggleborns to attend. All lessons are cancelled for the day.”

 _Here it comes_ , thought Hermione.

“On another note. I wish to announce that yesterday evening Severus Snape and Hermione Granger were legally bonded. However, she will retain her name at least until the end of the term to avoid any confusion.” The muttering started anew with even more strength, and this time even the Slytherin table seemed involved in it. Hermione flushed profusely and lowered her face, but not before she was able to catch a glimpse of the betrayal written clearly on Ron's face. Not for the first time that day, she felt grateful for the steady presence of her other friend at her side.

Harry, aware of all the accusing stares directed at his friend, stood up and took Hermione by the arm.

“Come on.”

She nodded dumbly and followed him meekly. He steered them towards the kitchen - it wasn’t likely that the house elves would care one way or another. It wasn’t until they took a seat and asked Dobby for tea that they realised they had been followed.

“Ok. Spit it out. What’s happening here?” Demanded a clearly furious Ginny Weasley, surprising them both.

“Hi Ginny...” started Harry lightly but was cut short by her withering glare.

“Tell her, Harry. It’s ok,” said Hermione, dejectedly pouring tea for the three of them.

She only half-listened to Harry, sipping her tea morosely and trying to remain unaffected. This was the worst part, she knew, it would all go away, eventually, and the truth would be known. At some point she realised Harry and Ginny had felt silent and the latter was looking at her expectantly. She returned her gaze.

“So, you truly are married to the Greasy Git...”

“It’s Professor Snape,” Hermione corrected, automatically, then smiled sheepishly.

“Gosh, I’m glad to know you are still yourself," answered the redhead, clearly relieved. "Some minutes ago I wouldn’t have bet on it. So... what are you going to do?”

“Do? Nothing... I’m just going to try to stay low profile until the novelty passes.”

“I see. Hermione, there will be rumours - I bet there are, already. Just... don't pay them any mind. You'll have a hard time of it otherwise,” the younger girl said, knowingly.

"Thanks, Ginny," replied Hermione sincerely. "How is Dean?”

“Shocked. Angry.” Ginny shrugged. “Just as anybody else. It’s so bloody unfair...”

“Gin, do you know how many of us are muggleborn?”

She shook her head.

“I could tell you who talk of muggle things, but I don’t know how many of them are halfbloods.”

“Same here. I never thought about it," said Harry, apparently thinking it was safe to rejoin the conversation. "I suppose we will discover it later.”

“That reminds me... I should go," said Hermione checking her watch. "My meeting with the Headmaster is in fifteen minutes."

"He wanted to see her today to give her' further instructions',” explained Harry, answering Ginny's questioning glance.

“We’ll be in the common room. Remember, all the lessons have been cancelled.”

“Or at the Quidditch Pitch. What?” asked Harry defensively. "We might as well get something good out of this day..."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

“See you later, then” smiled Hermione.

“Good luck,” whispered Harry, watching her go with a worried frown on his face.

\----------------

Half an hour later the three awaiting friends saw Hermione enter through the portrait door with a decidedly defeated air. They exchanged worried looks: _What now?_

“Hi guys,” she said, not even bothering to glance at the group of third years that skittered away at her entrance, regarding her suspiciously.

“What is it?” Asked Harry immediately.

“I’m moving. To the dungeons.” At the blank faces, she added. “Apparently I have to live with him.”

“Wh- what? Why?” Sputtered Harry, indignantly.

She sat by his side with a sigh.

“It seems that it will look suspicious to the ministry dolts that I don’t live with my husband. As if it wasn’t suspicious that I married a teacher in the first place.”

“But you’re still studying!”

Hermione held up her hands helplessly.

“When do you have to move?” Asked Ginny, glancing worriedly at her brother, who was wrapped around Lavender in another armchair, further away, clearly pretending not to listen.

“Today. This afternoon.”

They all fell into a moody silence.

The meeting with the Headmaster had been pretty straightforward. He had announced her that she was to move to Snape’s quarters that evening. He also told her that he and Professor Snape would make the accommodations during the afternoon, and that she would have an elf available to help her pack.

“I knew it wouldn’t be that simple,” eventually declared Harry, bitterly, and grasped her hand tightly.

“Come on, Hermione. I’ll help you pack,” said Ginny briskly, with a sheen in her own eyes. She turned towards Harry. “You should go talk to Dean. He’s quite low right now but doesn't want to see me.”

“We’ll meet at the reunion,” said Hermione dejectedly before following Ginny upstairs.


	9. A New Home

The Great Hall had been slightly modified to host the sixth and seventh year meeting. The House tables had been shortened to make room for two rows of banks in front of the High Table.

When Hermione and Ginny arrived, all her House mates were already seated, as were the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sixth and seventh years. Hermione noticed that the only two Slytherins in the room, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davies, were receiving suspicious glances from some of the members of the other three Houses. Her eyes fell then on Harry, who was waving at them. She went to take a seat by his side, greeting a clearly uncomfortable Neville.

“How’s the packing?” asked Harry, making room for Ginny on his other side.

“Fine. All done.”

“Are you moving?” Interjected Neville from her other side, then added nervously. “You aren’t moving with _him_ , arent, you?”

“Shhhh. Keep your voice down,” shushed Hermione. “Yes, I am. He is my husband now.”

“But why did you do it?"

"Why do you think?" she hissed, motioning around.

"I know, I know, but you could have chosen other person, surely... _Snape_?” He asked, looking pained.

“He’s not the devil, you know?” snapped Hermione.

“But what happened with McLaggen..?” Hermione thinned her lips and gave him a withering look. Neville blanched and started stuttering “I-I mean, we all know at Christmas you and McLaggen-” he shut his mouth abruptly.

Hermione's reply was cut short by Harry's elbow sinking into her ribs. Snape had just entered the Great Hall by the door behind the High Table, and was piercing them with his eyes, silencing the room instantly with only his presence. She really hoped the sound of their conversation hadn’t carried that far.

After Professor Snape emerged Dumbledore and the Heads of the remaining Houses, and they conjured armchairs before the banks.

“Good evening, everyone.”

Somebody grumbled something like ‘I wish’ in the Hufflepuff group, but the atmosphere were so tense nobody felt like laughing. Dumbledore, however, sent a brief smile of appreciation in that direction and began to explain in measured tones the formulation of the law and what was expected of them.

Hermione was only half listening, concentrating on not observing the dark robbed man situated on Dumbledore’s right. Having been occupied during all the day, she hadn’t really stopped to think of her situation. She was married to that man. That man was her husband. These were sentences that didn’t truly made sense in her head. How could she be married to somebody she didnt know? Because even having known him during the last six years, she realised she didn’t know a thing about him.

“But then, we should be safe from the law for the moment, shouldn’t we?" intervened Justin Finch-Fletcher, sounding clearly relieved. "Nobody plans on marrying now, and we have two years since we turn 17 to marry to someone we trust to not take advantage of that ridiculous law.”

“In theory, yes, you are correct, Mr Finch-Fletcher. However the Ministry is publishing next week a list of all the muggleborn in Britain, and I have reason to suspect the existence of some parties with malicious intent, who will try to, as you have put it, ‘take advantadge of the situation’,” he went back to address the rest of the room. “That’s why I have summoned all of you here, so that those of you who are muggleborn be forewarned, and so that the purebloods are aware of the situation. The freedom of your friends, or even their lives, might lie in your hands in the near future.”He paused. “I know we are living in difficult times. But I remind you once more that you are not alone. You have found people who care about you in and outside your houses. And, in the event that you receive a petition, I expect you to communicate it immediately to your head of house, or to myself, in order to try to find alternatives. As long as you are under my responsibility I will do my best to ensure that each and one of you will come to no harm.” Silence ensued. “No more questions? Then you are free to go. Dinner will start in half an hour, as usual.”

Hermione was about to follow Harry out of the Great Hall when a voice stopped her.

“Miss Granger...” She turned to see Professor Snape standing behind her. “Follow me.” He turned without further ado and directed his steps towards the dungeons.

I guess this is it, thought Hermione, while waving his friends goodbye. She hurried to catch up with the professor and didn’t notice that Harry had to pull a frowning Ron by the arm towards the stairs.

They walked in silence, Hermione intent in memorising the path, until they reached a nook in a small corridor before the one that held the potions classroom.

“Touch the wall with your wand,”he instructed.

Hermione did as ordered, and he muttered some words that made the wall flash for a moment.

“Now it will recognise you. Just walk through it. It’s similar to the entry to the Hogwarts Express.” He elaborated.

She extended her hand towards the wall and touched the stone tentatively. She felt the rough wall against her fingers for an instant before... nothing. She stepped through the wall with her eyes closed. It felt cold, as if she had walked through a slim wall of cold water. She supposed that was the effect of the wards recognising her.

When she opened her eyes at the other side she found herself surrounded by darkness. She was glad she had had the presence of mind to take a step to the side, as Snape emerged exactly where she had been standing.

“Ignis”.

A small ball of fire ran through the ceiling of the passage from where they stood to the end, about ten metres ahead, leaving a trail of light warm orange light.

“It will fade out when you exit the passage,” he said, already walking. The passage itself was made of stone and had stairs, with stone arches on the walls every few steps.

He walked confidently through the wall opposite the one they had entered through, and she followed, this time without hesitance.

“Welcome home, Miss Granger,” he announced sardonically.

She took in her surroundings. She was in a square-shaped room bathed in a eerie blue-green light coming from a huge closed balcony on the right.

 _We’re under the lake_ , she realised.

All the walls except for the one that held the fireplace were covered by dark brown shelves, and these, full of books. The walls themselves were made of very dark grey stone. A sofa and two moss green armchairs surrounded the fireplace. The only furniture apart from them and the shelves was a big cupboard against the back of the sofa and a long dining table full of parchments and scrolls that lay in front of the window. Several doors were visible, each under a snake-like pointed stone arch. There was also a relief of a winged snake over the fireplace.

Hermione thought it could be worse. She had expected it to be greener, even darker and to have far more snakes. She didn’t specially like the green light, but she would make do.

“If you have finished staring...” His sharp voice snapped her back to attention. “That door goes to my private lab. It’s off limits,” he said, pointing to a door on their left. “As that has not refrained you on the past, I feel necessary to inform you that it is also warded.”

She blushed but held his gaze steadily. She knew, instinctually this was not the time to be cowed.

“That one by the fireplace is the main entrance. We will go back to dinner that way,” he continued, pointing at doors at he explained. “That’s the door leading to my room. I would like to declare it ‘off limits’ too, but the only way to the bathroom goes through it, for the moment. The Headmaster is trying to convince the castle to add another bathroom for you or at least, another door.”

“Convince the castle?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes,” he answered curtly, and turned to open the last visible door, on the left of the place they had emerged from.

She peeked around him. It was a storage room with no lights. He touched one of the shelves and enunciated ‘ _mercury_ ’. The big shelf on the front inserted itself into the wall, revealing an ample cream coloured room with a bed, a shelf, a cabinet and a white desk under another green window. Her trunk was on the foot of the bed with crookshanks curled on top of it. All in all, the contrast of the light with the creamy walls and light brown of the furniture was very nice.

“Your bedroom,” he stated unnecessarily. “It needs to be able to stay hidden in case the ministry decides to come to snoop. You may keep the wall open or closed at your leisure. You can also change the password by tapping three times on the shelf with your wand and stating clearly the new one.” He looked at Crookshanks with distaste, who was padding towards Hermione. “I see you’ve brought your... ‘cat’. Make sure that _it_ remains out of my bedroom and the bathroom, and that it doesn’t chew on anything. You wouldn’t want to find it has poisoned itself...” he insinuated maliciously.

Hermione looked up sharply. She didn’t like his tone one bit.

“Be careful yourself with what you leave lying around, _Professor_. Now these are _my_ and _his_ – not ' _its'_ – quarters too.” They stood glaring at each other for a while.

“I can believe the sheer cheek you Gryffindors display,” he hissed, enraged. “These have been my quarters for the last fifteen years and-”

A loud chime sounded, startling them both.

“Dinnertime,” he spatted before storming out of the room. Hermione winced as she heard the outer door closing with a bang.

She dropped onto the bed heavily, Crookshanks climbing beside her. As the rush of adrenaline passed, she started to regret her words. It couldn’t be easy for him to have a student living in his space, she reasoned. Still, threatening to poison her cat at the first opportunity just wasn’t done. She didn’t think she should let him frighten her, but she reckoned she could have been nicer about it.

She sighed deeply, petting Crookshanks. She would apologise later, she decided, she would be the greater person.

She made her way back to the great hall and took a seat with his friends, who peppered her with questions.

“I’m alright. The rooms are cool - no, it is _not_ a dungeon. The windows are under the lake. Really, I’m fine,” she answered curtly. Their friends, sensing she wasn’t in a good mood, gave her some space. She ate her dinner slowly, not looking once towards the Head table.

When she came back to his – _their_ – rooms, she found him in his sofa reading a letter. All the conviction she had held previously fled away at the reality of having to confront _him_. She took two tentative steps towards him and stood by the side of the sofa. He ignored her.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she called, annoyed, after a few seconds. “Please?”

“By all means, Miss Granger, you’re in _your_ home now. You can pester me all you want,” he answered bitterly, not taking his eyes from the parchment in his hands.

“Look, I don’t want to be a bother,” Hermione stated. He snorted. “I mean it," she insisted. "I know you don’t want me here. And I do appreciate what you had to give up to keep me safe from that horrible law."

“I’m not doing this for you,” he stated immediately.

 _Rude, but at least he seems to be listening now_ , she thought.

“I know. But I’m grateful for it all the same. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I was rude before, although I would appreciate if in the future you refrain from threatening my cat.” She fidgeted. “And well, I will try my best not to be a nuisance. I promise.”

Seeing no response was forthcoming, she retired to her bedroom, her head held high, took a few toiletries and her pyjamas and came back to the living room. She took a deep breath and tried not to flush.

“I will have a shower now, if you don’t mind,” she announced, feeling as if she was talking to the wall, and marched towards his bedroom.

“Wait,” he called, leaving the armchair. “I will show you.”

The so called bathroom was as big as the prefects' bathroom on the third floor and had its own small swimming pool. Likewise, the pool also had several taps, although the marble in this one was green and brown, giving it the appearance of having been dug on the earth itself. Snape explained summarily the function of each of the taps without a trace of a sneer and left the room silently.

She took that to mean that she was forgiven.

However, when she came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later the Professor was nowhere to be seen.


	10. Ground Rules and Occlumency

The next morning she woke disorientated. She frowned at the vaulted ceiling simmering with dim spidery blue-green lights.

_Oh._

She closed her eyes again and sighed. At least it was Saturday. No rushing that day.

Eventually she opened her eyes and began to make a mental list of what she wanted to do that day while watching the patterns of the light in the ceiling.

_Have breakfast._

_Unpack and organise the room._

_Talk to the Professor about bathroom times – see what mood he's in first._

_Arithmancy exercises._

_Transfiguration essay._

_Oh, drat. Quidditch Match._

She stretched, unintentionally pushing Crookshanks with the balls of her feet. He meowed indignantly at the sudden awakening.

“Stop complaining, Crooks,” she chided. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

She got out of the bed, feeling prepared to confront the day.

Some hours later, she took the only free seat on the quidditch stands, between Parvati and Neville. It was Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw, and all the Gryffindor quidditch team was sitting together to comment on strategy. Harry was already immersed in a technical discussion with Ron and Ginny, which Neville was listening to, so she tried to make stilted small talk with Parvati on her left. For once, she wished Lavender was around - even her would respect the quidditch team meeting - and she would be free to get lost in thought on her own. Where was she, by the way?

“She is speaking with Professor Trelawney,” Parvati answered suspiciously.

“In the middle of a quidditch match?” Interjected Seamus, joining the conversation from the back row. Apparently Dean was sulking that his girlfriend had left him alone for the match.

“They had a meeting scheduled. With the castle empty the aura is clearer,” the girl answered defensively.

Hermione pressed her lips together and didn’t comment, not wanting to antagonise anyone any further. Since the announcement of her wedding the previous morning, the Gryffindors seemed to pick her words carefully around her, as if she was a potential spy. The irony of her husband actually being a spy wasn’t lost on her. Although she wondered what exactly their housemates thought Snape would find interesting about their lives.

The match started, and Hermione let her mind wander. She could vaguely understand the appeal of quidditch, certain twists and turns and moves were impressive - and required a certain ability -  but she somehow couldn't muster the excitement her classmates exhibited unless it was one of her friends playing.

As it was bound to, her mind went to Snape, and how little she knew about him. Did he like quidditch? He probably did, she thought scanning the teachers' stands, she remembered him acting as a referee in their first year. However, he wasn't there. She frowned. He hadn’t been in the Great Hall at breakfast, nor at lunch, and no, he wasn’t at the Slytherin stands either.

Gagging noises at her right brought her back to the match - apparently Lavender had made an appearance at some point during her musings, settling around Ron, and Ginny was expressing her opinion of the situation.

The match didn't last long after that - Cho caught the snitch soon afterwards - and Hermione hurried to the library, glad to be able to hide from the most part of the suspicious looks.

The rest of the day was spent peacefully, with only Harry for company, who was having - well deserved, in her opinion - trouble with his Potions essay.

Later that evening, when she entered her quarters, she was surprised to find herself relieved to find Snape sitting in the living room.

“Good evening.”

He nodded, barely sparing her a glance. The light of the fireplace bathed his profile. Hermione thought he looked paler than usual, but didn’t dare ask.

“We have an unfinished conversation from yesterday. If you may?” He said simply, gesturing towards the sofa.

Hermione sat, expectantly.

“Due to the... abrupt end of our conversation, we didn’t talk about ground rules.”

She nodded, deciding not to point out whose fault that had been.

“You are still a student here, and as such, you are still subjected to the students’ curfew. No visitors are allowed in m– _these_ quarters," he ground out. Hermione thought, not without satisfaction, that Dumbledore must have given him a looong chat for him to be so accomodating. "You already can meet with your friends in a number of places, so there's no need to bring them here.” He paused, as if expecting her to complain.

She had pursed her lips, but he either didn't notice or was satisfied with her acquiescence.

“In addition, you must keep referring at me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir’ at all times. I will not tolerate disrespect from you. Also, I don’t think I need to mention that everything that you see or hear here, stays here. And you definitely must start behaving with the proper decorum outside these walls-”

“ _Pardon me_?” She asked sharply, incredulous. She thought the continuous 'sir' treatment was a bit excessive, but that comment about decorum... “What exactly are you implying by that?”

“I am implying that from now on you will not be seen cosying up with Potter, nor Weasley, nor anybody else.”

“ _'Cosying up'_?" she asked, her voice rising higher. "They are my friends!”

“I don’t care how much you relish appearing on the papers, but I will not have you – and, by extension, me – on Witch Weekly’s front page _again_ ,” he stated.

“How dare you? I don't- I didn't- That wasn't my fault!" She sputtered in outrage, standing swiftly. "Besides, those were complete lies; they are just my friends.”

His scowl darkened, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

“Listen to me very carefully: _I could not care less_ ," he said, clearly enunciating every word. "I don’t care what, _or who,_ you do - or cease to do - in your spare time and _in private_ , but I will _not_ tolerate gossip about it. So you have better start being mindful of your behaviour while in public.”

Hermione was googling at him, still not believing his gall.

"How dare you?" she repeated. "You are only my husband in paper. I don’t think ‘my public behaviour’ is any of your business, _Professor_ ,” she spatted, enraged.

That seemed to make him snap, and he advanced towards her menacingly.

“How simple can you be?” he hissed, uncomfortably close to her face. “There are other forces working in this... _sham_ other than your petty self-righteousness. Have you forgotten my _other job?_ ”

She shut her mouth with a click and tried to step back but her legs met the sofa and she found herself seated abruptly. That made him realise his closeness and take a step back.

“I see you have," he said softly, a sort of grim satisfaction twisting his face. "The headmaster seemed to think that you had brains, that you were capable of coping with the situation... It's clear he was mistaken,” he ended dismissively, dropping onto the armchair he had been occupying previously.

Hermione watched him rub the bridge of his nose in silence, feeling dismayed. He was right.

She hadn't been considering his other role, not really. She observed him then as if for the first time. The lights in the room did nothing to soften his sharp pale features framed by the lank hair. She thought he seemed exhausted. That perked her curiosity about his whereabouts during the day. And just where did he go last night? _Oh, dear..._

“You went to _him_ last night,” she blurted before she could check herself.

Surprise flickered briefly through his face.

“That is none of your business.”

She nodded in acceptance. _Still..._

“Are you okay? I mean, if there’s anything I can do to help...” she asked, uncertain.

His expression turned to one that could have been close to amusement.

“No.” Then he frowned. “Miss Granger, you need to understand...”

“I understand,” she interjected. “You were right. I haven’t been thinking about that, about your... _other job_ ,” she finished lamely, using his own expression. “But nobody said anything... I don’t really know what is expected of me,” she admitted, suddenly feeling very small. She bit her lip and started fidgeting with the hem of her jumper, as he considered her.

“For the moment, we are supposed to convince the ministry that we married _‘for love’ ,"_ he said neutrally, but couldn't quite keep the sneer out of his voice. “And, although nobody in his right mind would believe that, we must, at the very least, not offer proof of the contrary. Specially knowing there are third parties interested in cancelling our contract.”

“I understand. Really. I will be careful. I will still spend time with them, though. They are my friends,” she explained.

He frowned but apparently decided not to press the point.

“Is there anything else I need to know?” She asked.

“Actually, there is,” he answered. "The Headmaster reckons I should probe your mind and determine if you could learn Occlumency. You are now in a delicate position.”

Hermione felt a rush of excitement... to be able to learn Occlumency from a master such as Snape was an unique opportunity. Then she realised it would also mean Snape roaming through her mind and gulped audibly.

“How will be go about it?” She asked, squaring her shoulders.

“So eager to show me your secrets?” he mocked.

She glared at him, but he continued explaining, impervious.

“If you are actually willing, tomorrow would be a good day to try. You might suffer migraines afterwards and the headache potions don’t work on everyone." She only shrugged. “Then we’ll meet in my office after lunch. Practise clearing your mind before you go to sleep.”

“I will. Why in your office?”

“It’s neutral,” he answered. She arched her brows showing her eskepticism, but he ignored it, suddenly looking strangely uncomfortable. “There is one more thing. I had a meeting with the Headmaster today. It seems Salazar Slytherin was very intent in having his quarters preserved from external meddling, and thus, it won’t be possible to add another door to the bathroom." He clenched his jaw briefly before continuing, as if it pained him to do so. "I generally sleep late and wake up early... and I usually shower in the evenings. In any case, I will leave my door open when I’m gone, and as an indication that you may pass.”

She fought valiantly to control her blush. She didn’t know why discussing the shower time preferences somehow felt so... intimate.

“Thank you. I was meaning to ask about it myself.”

He nodded, noncommittally.

She bid him goodnight then, thinking, as she went to her room, that she would locate the closer dungeon toilet first thing in the morning, just in case.

 

\--------------------------

 

The next day after lunch when Hermione sat facing the Professor to begin her Occlumency lessons fear was winning over excitement. That he seemed to be in something akin to a cheerful mood - or as 'cheerful' as Snape got - didn't help her nerves at all.

“Shall we begin?”

“What should I do?” she asked haltingly.

“Try to throw me out,” he answered simply.

“Yes, but how?” she was beggining to realise that even when he was 'behaving' he could be _really_ exasperating. She also suspected he did it on purpose.

“In any way you can,” he smirked. He definitely did it on purpose.

She would have snorted if she wasn’t feeling so nervous.

“Ready?”

She gulped and nodded.

“Legerements,” he whispered.

She felt pressure inside her head for a moment before scenes began to roll through her mind. The professor before her, in the dim light, the first thestral she saw, the ministry vaults, the third floor corridor.... She felt disoriented.

Remembering his advice to clear her head she pictured the colour white. The image of pure, white light lasted for about two seconds before the blur of scenes came back. Hagrid's unicorns, a sunny afternoon walk with ron, her morning bath in the prefects' white marble bathroom... She felt so mortified that reacted instinctively, giving a powerful ‘push’ with all her being.

A wave of pain blinded her. The images stopped.

Next thing she new, she was on the couch in their quarters, Snape’s frowning face swimming into view above her.

Seeing her awake, he straightened and offered her a blue vial.

“What happened? Ouch, is that for the head?” she asked numbly, feeling as if two elefants were stomping against the walls of her skull.

“Yes. Drink it.”

She didn't need to be told twice. She gulped the contents of the vial and then closed her eyes.

They waited in silence, until the pain in her head dulled significantly and she felt able to speak without feeling her head splitting with every sound.

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely. “What happened?”

“You ejected me...”

“Did I?” cut Hermione, beaming.

“... and fell unconscious in the process,” he rebuked. Hermione noticed that his 'cheerful' mood was apparently gone. “It seems that keeping your modesty is a great incentive to you.”

She felt her face grow hot and the pain intensified a little. _Affected by blood pressure_ , she thought idly.

“Also you managed to redirect me. All in all it was a commendable effort,” he continued.

She gaped. That was the highest praise he had ever given her.

“Close your mouth, Miss Granger, it’s unseemly,” he snapped.

“So... that means I can learn Occlumency? Will you teach me?” She asked, unable to contain her growing excitemen.

“I will have to talk with the Headmaster first, but yes, I suppose so.”

“Oh, thank y- argh!” she jumped from the sofa and staggered as a sharp pain pierced her head. “Oh, bollocks!”

“Watch that tongue,” he scolded automatically. “I would advise you to rest for a while, and to avoid sudden movements... as you might have deduced already,” he finished with a slight smirk.

The lessons started the following day, but the location moved to their living room - he aduced he wasn’t willing to carry her back every time she fainted.

 


	11. Research

The cohabitation went through a few stages before stabilising. After the first few days in which she tried to avoid him whenever she could, she nudged herself and decided to stand her ground. They were her quarters too, and she had the right to use them, she reasoned.

She started to spend the evenings in the living room, instead of in her bedroom, and she situated a box with her toiletries in a shelf of the bathroom and hung out one of her towels by the pool. She also took up again her habit of wearing pyjamas right after dinner.

As he didn’t comment on any of these changes, she took his silence as permission.

A pattern was established and maintained during the following weeks. She attended her lessons, spend the afternoons and most of the weekend with her friends at Gryffindor tower, and all the evenings with him. That didn’t mean they were comfortable with each another, it didn’t even meant that they talked regularly, but they got used to the - generally silent - presence of the other in the room.

Hermione discovered early on that he didn’t do ‘idle chat’, but that when she asked him about homework he generally didn’t mind talking at length about it, if he deemed the topic innocuous enough.

She found herself amazed at just how knowledgeable he seemed to be in some areas, and just how unconcerned about others. Hermione’s questions about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were mostly answered with a snippy retort about not wanting to waste his time and a book recommendation - although this last one was usually useful. Potions and, surprisingly, Charms were the two subjects he seemed 'happier' to talk about – if you could call his reluctant willingness 'happiness'. Despite having seldom seen him using his wand other than to write on the blackboard, Hermione discovered he was truly brilliant at charms, with a sharp mind and a deep understanding of the theory behind the spells.

In contrast, her questions about DADA always made him frown suspiciously and his answers were usually curt. If he hadn’t been so blatantly biased in his lessons during the previous six years she would have thought he was worried about playing favourites. At it was, she supposed some of the rumours about them both circulating around the school had finally reached his ears and wasn't keen of having them confirmed in any way. That or that he didn't want a Gryffindor with a head's start in his lessons.

Apart from the courtesy greetings (mostly from her side) and the odd question Hermione had about her homework, they only really spoke during the occlumency lessons, which had been programmed every other night an hour before Hermione's usual bedtime except for Friday and Saturday evenings.

She had puzzled about it at first, but soon guessed that they were his ‘meeting nights’ - either with Voldemort or the Headmaster, Hermione never knew for sure. What she knew was that those days he generally returned late at night and was usually in a full bad mood that lasted well into the following morning.

All her questions about his well being had been met with either contemptuous silence or outright disdain, so she had stopped asking. However, these nights she always left her door open as she had found that she slept better after hearing him come back.

The occlumency lessons themselves were going well, but progressing far slower than she would have liked. She had turned out to have an innate ability to change the course of his explorations and bring images to the front, but had troubles locking particular memories and wasn’t able to eject him without blacking out - and this only in extreme situations, which frustrated her to no end.

These lessons had also caused a rift between her and Harry and Ron. It seemed that Professor Snape wasn’t to know about Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore and although the Headmaster had provided Hermione with a small pensieve to use before every occlumency lesson, he had considered unwise to keep feeding her with even more information to hide. Since Harry only seemed to want to moan about Slughorn or obsess over Malfoy, they barely had anything to talk about anymore.

Hermione glanced at him and tsked in disapproval. Harry was currently indulging in his other obsession, _that book_. Deep down Hermione acknowledged that she wouldn't have enjoyed being bested under any circumstances, but the fact that it was Harry, who had never even _tried_ to learn Potions, was particulary irking. If she was feeling specially honest with herself, she would also admit she was the tiniest bit envious. She was careful, she worked hard, she studied the ingredients' properties and wished she had more time to research and experiment - as she did with many other subjects - but the instinct flair that that Prince had hadn't come to her. It wasn't fair...

Harry huffed, and she realised she had been staring.

"I didn't say anything," she said defensively.

"You didn't need to," he snapped. "Nevermind, it's almost time for quidditch practice anyway."

She pressed her lips together, deciding not to pick a fight - _although God knows he deserves one._ She waited until he left the room to throw the quill away in frustration.

At first it was because of her telling him to give up the book, now they even fought because of her _thinking_ about it. It was getting ridiculous. Hermione packed her things determinedly and headed for the library with a purposeful step. She would find out who exactly that Half-Blood Prince was.

 

Ten minutes later Hermione entered the library in a huff, noticing just in the last moment she was about to get into McLaggen's visual field. She ducked instinctively behind a bookcase and walked until the last, best-hidden table in the opposite direction, where she dropped her books.

In her hurry, she hadn’t noticed the section she had sat by, nor the blond girl in Gryffindor robes which was browsing the shelves with a book already on her hands.

  
“Oh, hi, Lavender...” she greeted, slightly flustered. “Sorry, I didn’t knew you were here. I’ll find another seat.”

  
“No, don’t worry,” she replied shiftily, taking another book and stuffing it into her arms. “I was just leaving.”

  
Hermione watched her hurry out with a heavy heart. Althought she didn’t particulary liked the other girl, specially now she was snogging Ron, being shunned still hurt. She pressed her palms against her eyes. It was like her first months at Hogwarts all over again: her, alone, hiding at the library while the rest of the world avoided her like the plague - except when they needed help with homework. Only this time it was unlikely a troll would bring Harry, Ron and her back together.

Suddenly she didn't want to look for the Half-Blood Prince anymore.  
   
To distract herself, she immersed herself in topic that had been rounding her head for years: Animagus transformation.

 

 

A few hours later, in the dimming light, Hermione meandered between the bookcases on her way to Gryffindor tower. The lamps flared to light at she passed, and she entertained herself looking at the spines of the books, reading random titles. _So much left to know..._

As her eyes fell on the sign on one of the shelves, her step faltered. _'Magical Culture and Dinasties_ '. _It wouldn't hurt to check_.

Throwing a guilty glance around, she extracted a volume called ' _Wizarding Genealogies in Modern Times'._ Her eyes quickly scanned the index. One, two, three pages of names until - there it was - _Prince_. Page 673.

She leafed through the book hastily, her excitement growing. _Could it be this easy?_   Then: _'The last descendant of the Prince line is Octavius Cyrus Prince, born in 1905.'_

Hermione blinked, then rushed back to the first page. ' _Publication date: 1929'_. _Ah._

She went back to her room with a skip on her step, all guilt forgotten. She hadn't found _the_ Prince, but at least she had a very promising place to start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just started a new job and it's turning out to be quite time-consuming, so I'm afraid it's going to take longer to update from now on. Thanks for reading!


	12. Magical Theory and Practical Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the times I edit a chapter, I only make small corrections but this time I have re-written this chapter almost in its entirety because I realised there was an important scene I had left behind. I will leave a warning at the beginning of the next chapter too.  
> Sorry about that! I know it's annoying to have to read the same thing twice.

Harry behaved completely normal the next day - apparently quidditch practise had on Harry the same head-clearing effect as then afternoon at the library had on Hermione - and Hermione had judiciously decided not to comment on her findings about the family 'Prince'. At least not until she had something more conclusive.

Besides, she had other things to worry about, she thought that afternoon after her DADA lesson.

Try as she might, she wasn't able to master unverbal hexes, much to some of her classmates' glee. The fact that she was married to the instructor hadn't gone by unnoticed by her classmates either, no matter how many times she repeated that Snape never spoke to her about his own class, let alone help her.

 _It wouldn't kill him to do it, though,_ she thought, irritated, while trying to make her quill levitate wordlessly. _Helping me isn't the same thing as giving me the questions of the exam._ After another frustrating lesson she had decided to forego her time at the library and spend the afternoon practising in their quarters, as non-verbal casting seemed to be an important part of that year syllabus in both Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. After a promising start with shield charms, which she had been able to cast quite effectively, she had stumbled upon a block whenever she tried to cast any other spell, jinx or hex. Apparently trying to cast nonverbal spells willingly, with no external urgency was a totally different matter. She had only managed to cast the spells occasionally and without any measure of control.

"How much longer are you planning to keep waving your wand uselessly?" asked Snape suddenly, making Hermione flick her wand, startled, sending her quill to the fireplace. Her frustation rose another notch.

"Until it stops being useless," snaped back Hermione, annoyed, picking another quill. "If you recall, it's part of the homework _you've_ given us."

"I seriously doubt I've asked you to levitate quills."

"I'd rather first try to control easy things rather than waste my friends' time making them act as targets for hexes that are never coming..." she said, flicking her wand violently and making the new quill smash against the ceiling. "...or are going to blast them to pieces. Besides, it's also Professor Flitwick's assignment."

"So, the perfect pupil is having trouble with something..." he taunted. "What's the problem, couldn't find the answer in a book?"

Hermione bit her lip, and tried a couple of times more, intent in ignoring his surveillance.

"You're doing it wrong," he eventually said, turning slightly on his seat and placing an arm on the back of his chair.

"I noticed, thank you for pointing it out," she said sharply, starting to feel close to tears of frustration.

He gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Stop that and tell me, how does spellcasting work? Why does a spell work when we pronounce it aloud?"

Hermione glanced at him briefly, dropped her wand on her lap and busied herself on massaging her sore wrists while she gathered her wits.

"Because the words carry power, or better yet, the words extract the power from the magical core all wizards possess and the wand-"

Snape waved his hand dismissively.

"Spare me the textbook answer, I can read too. Just tell me what _you_ think it happens."

She frowned, but tried again.

"We are a power source, our wand channels and focuses that power, and the words tell the wand what it must do with that power, how it must transform it."

"Much better, but it isn't quite right: the words doesn't tell the wand what it must do, it tells ourself - or our magic-selves, if you prefer - what it must say to the wand. So, what you are trying to do now is skipping that step and trying to give the orders directly to the wand. You know the wand language, why do you have to tell yourself to translate too?"

Hermione mulled it over, chewing on her lip.

"So that's why we are told that the strongest spells require intent, because they need more than an unconscious fleeting desire of something happening. But in essence the process is the same: when we are casting we are intent of that thing happening."

"Exactly."

"And what if I only use intent, but no words?"

"Then you would usually have an uncontrolled bout of magic, like magical children do when frightened. The power of the words is that they define clearly what we want to happen, and communicate that to the wand. And before you ask, the communication with the wands is, for the most part, a mystery. I'm not going to go as far as to call the wand 'sentient', but it's true they communicate, in their own way," he explained quietly, running his fingers along the length of his forearm, where Hermione guessed he kept his wand.

"That is also why the wands are so personal. There are some of them that understand us better than others. It is amazing what a good connection between wizard and wand may achieve, the level of control..." he trailed off, as if thinking outloud.

Hermione observed him, gobsmacked. This conversation was probably the most fascinating lesson she had had in all her years in Hogwarts. She was feeling again that rush of excitement she had felt the first time she discovered magic. Who would have thought it would be Snape who unveiled a new entire view of magic for her.

"Can you do it, control without words? Will you show me?" Hermione asked, her face glowing.

He looked startled for a moment, then straightened in his seat and extracted his wand from his sleeve.

He turned slightly towards the fireplace and pointed. A stream of water came out of the end of his wand, but instead of dropping onto the fire, it moved upwards and split into small tendrils which started to curl and swirl around, forming a moving tree shape, glowing in the firelight. Then, they merged into each other, tying into different celtic knots.

Hermione watched, marvelled, aware of the extraordinary ability necessary to control a body of liquid, let alone shape it into figures. After a while, however, her focus wavered towards the caster. At that moment he was concentrated on shaping a chinese dragon, directing the water tendrils with subtle wand movements, like a painter adding the finishing touches to his creation. A slight curl of his lips showed his satisfaction and transformed his face completely. Hermione realised that was the first time in all her years at Hogwarts she had ever seen him enjoying himself. It struck Hermione that, like that, she found him almost - _almost_ \- appealing, and she fought not to let her dismay show.

All too soon, he frowned and made a circular motion with his wand, vanishing the water. For a few seconds the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace, and Hermione was left with the feeling of having intruded into an intimate moment somehow. He straightened, his posture now rigid, and she searched for something to break the silence.

"That was amazing," she said honestly. "How did you learn to do that?"

"Spare time and concentration," he said drily, and made to go.

"Can you do it with other things too?" She asked in a rush, to keep him from leaving. She couldn't shake the feeling that she shouldn't let him leave just then. Her eyes flickered towards the fire; she had been reminded of the fireplayers at the medieval fairs.

He was nothing if not observant.

"Fire, you mean?" he asked retaking his seat, to Hermione's relief. "Hardly. Too independent and unpredictable. Water comes more naturally to me." He made a pause. "If you wish to try it, you should start with solid things, though. Threads, puppets or the like. They are easier to move. Or you could also train through transfiguration. In case you haven't noticed, Transfiguration is the branch of magic that dabbles deeper into magical control through intent. Although there is a big difference between modifying 'being' and modifying 'state'."

"How so? I'm good at transfiguration..." Said Hermione.

"So McGonagall keeps telling to anyone who would listen." Hermione flushed, thinking she had asked for that one, but he seemed faintly amused, if anything. "Complex or customised transfigurations require a strong will to impose over the nature of a material and change it, even if it's only temporarily. That might suggest you are wilful enough," he said with a smirk "so if you are having troubles with wordless magic it's because you either lack focus or aren't channelling your energy properly. I would bet on the latter."

"How can I fix it?"

He looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then summoned a black stone from the fireplace and let it rest on the low table between then.

"Finding the right way to call your magic. And for that purpose I would suggest going to the basics. Try to heat it, not with fire, neither with a warming charm. Just put your wand on the rock and transfer your own heat, as you would naturally if you kept it in your palm enough time. Although a bit faster, if possible; that's the channelling part." He smirked. "Don't despair if you don't achieve anything at first. It could take minutes, days, or weeks." Then to prove his point, he touched the stone with the tip of his wand.

Several seconds passed without anything happening, then several sparkles started to appear all over the stone surface, and soon all of it was red hot and burning the wood underneath.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She had tried to keep up with the muggle world, so she had notions of physics, energy and forces. It made sense to start with a process of energy transfer that was already happening, even if it wasn't exactly magical. This new lookout sounded very promising. She wondered how much longer she would have been stuck repeating the same futile exercises if not for that chat. He truly was a great teacher... when he wanted to be.

"Why aren't you like this in class?" blurted Hermione, and realised it was the wrong thing to say the moment she uttered the words. His posture straightened, his face became impassive and when he spoke, his voice had lost the relaxed and smooth, almost teasing, pitch he had been using, becoming sharp and curt.

"That is none of your business, not to mention a completely inappropriate remark, Miss Granger. This will be enough chit chat for today," he said icily, and left their quarters without waiting for an answer.

Not that Hermione had anything to say.

She had gathered that he was very worried about keeping a firm boundary between his teaching role and his personal life. That was why he had forbidden her to approach him at his office if it wasn't to talk about academic topics, and disliked answering DADA questions in their quarters. Hermione nearly groaned out loud. And she had to go and criticise his teaching methods. To his face. After he had spent some of his precious time helping her with her difficulties and teaching her the most amazing lesson she had had at Hogwarts.

She took a quill, wrote a few lines of apology in a piece of parchment and pinned it to his bedroom door before going to dinner, hoping it was enough; she really appreciated his patience and help.

The day after that he resumed his aloof behaviour, barely greeting her with his customary nod, so Hermione thought her apology had been accepted.

Or at least, that's what she hoped, as his method had proven to be incredibly helpful. Barely a few days later she already could cast most of the required spells, and was able to focus again on transfiguration.

With the new approach the animagus process made a lot of more sense, and she soon dedicated most of her free time to reading about it. The idea of trying to become one that had started as a fancy now flashed through her mind as a distinct possibility, that she, however, always hurried to discard as foolish.

She told herself that what really fascinated her was the theory, as she soon arrived to a few questions none of the books she had consulted seemed to have the answers for. One of them said that the animagus form was magical, unique and unchangeable. Another one read that the form was a reflection of one's perception of their own qualities, than uncounsciously were assigned to an animal. This last description had stricken her as too similar as the one used for the Patronus charm. If that was so, did it mean her animagus would also be an otter? What was more, did it mean animagus forms could change too?

She mulled it over for days, but by mid-february it was bothering her enough to risk asking McGonagall. Hermione waited until the Professor's last lesson of the day, and approached her as the pupils hurried out of the classroom. By the time she was finished her Professor had dropped her books on her table and was regarding her consideringly.

"It is an insightful approach, although it is not the first time I hear of it. My mentor, Augustus Penderton, had his own theories about it."

Hermione perked up, hopeful.

"However, it has never been proved, and it is unlikely it will happen anytime soon. Animagus are scarce and Patronus changes are rare enough occurrences not to have happened simultaneously on the same person. And, before you ask, there isn't any known method to ascertain which form would an animagus take either."

"Oh," said Hermione, bitting her lip.

"I would recommend you to focus your efforts on the Patronus charm, as there is more research available on the topic." McGonagall pursed her lips. " I can't stress enough the risks involved in the process of becoming an animagus... It is most unwise, not to mention illegal, to try outside strict Ministry supervision. "

"Yes, Professor," answered Hermione, blushing profusely.

McGonagall surveyed her over her glasses for a few more seconds before adding.

"However, if you must, you could check on Remigius Rowle, he gives an interesting testimony in _Tales of a Raven_ ," the older woman eventually said in a sobering tone. "I usually take a walk every Sunday morning, before breakfast. I find it most invigorating. I also find the small courtyard on the first floor a good place where to clear your head in between lessons. You may join me one day if your questions keep plaguing you."

 

\---------------------------------

"Are you sure it wasn't checked out?"

"Quite sure Miss Granger," answered Mme. Pince stiffly, her nose flaring in indignation.

Hermione bit her lip, not wanting to antagonise the woman further. The librarian has never been exactly friendly with her, but Hermione liked to think that there was a kinship of sorts between them.

"But I can't find it! It's not on the transfiguration shelves..."

At that the older woman pierced her with a long-suffering look.

"That might be because that book is _not_ in the transfiguration shelves," the librarian snapped and walked away mumbling about incompetent students wasting her time.

Hermione followed, puzzled.

"You are a prefect, are you not?" asked Mme. Pince, but didn't seem to need an answer. "Try in there," she said, stopping abruptly and pointing towards the rope marking the entrance to the Restricted Section.

Hermione mumbled her thanks and hurried inside. This time she had no problem locating the book. It was a thick volume, bound in soft brown leather. She leafed through it and realised she was looking at a transcription of a diary. _Why would a diary be in the restricted section?_

She slowly made her way back to the table she had been using during the last few days, ever since her narrow scape from McLaggen. People seldom ventured in that area; ancient languages hardly seemed to be a popular topic. In addition, the tables there were small, insufficient for three people but more than enough for one, and most students tended to view the library as yet another place to socialise - much to Mme. Pince and Hermione's vexation.

In any case, the silence and isolation suited her just fine, specially now she had started her new project - for real.

Already engrossed in "Tales of a Raven", it wasn't until she settled back behind her usual pile of books that she spotted Lavender browsing the shelves further down the corridor.

The irrational rush of jealousy she had been feeling everytime she laid eyes on her made an appearance and she hunched over "Tales of a Raven" so that the books mostly covered her from view. Luckily Lavender seemed intent in whatever it was she was doing and didn't noticed Hermione at all.

Hermione tried to go back to her reading but couldn't help but follow the other girl's movements until she turned the corner. She sighed in relief, and didn't even wonder what had Lavender so absorbed.

However, she could no longer keep up the pretense of ignoring her housemate when she collapsed into a chair on the other side of the bookcase and started sobbing.

Startled and annoyed in equal parts, Hermione hesitated between retreating towards the Restricted Section or approaching to check if she was alright. Eventually she sighed.

 _I’m a bloody saint,_ she thought before pressing her lips together and making her way to the sobbing girl.

“Lavender... Are you alright?”

The blond girl jumped slightly and stared at her with puffy eyes.

“I’m just... It's n-nothing,” the girl said, hiccupping.

Hermione watched the other girl scramble up, not knowing what to do. That was not the reaction she had expected at all, Lavender was a very emotional person but whenever Hermione had found her distressed before she had been more than happy to speak - at length - about what exactly was wrong with her. This time it was different, it was clear Lavender didn't want to talk, but...

When Lavender stumbled, Hermione's mind was made up. She grabbed her arm and half-carried her to her secluded table. Hermione conjured a hankerchief and handed it over to the other girl. Hermione waited until Lavender calmed down, wishing fervently whatever it was that had happened didn't have anything to do with Ron.

"Thanks," Lavender finally said, sniffling.

"Lavender," began Hermione, clearly uncertain. "Look, whatever else, I am your housemate, and a prefect. You can tell me if you have a problem."

"It's... you wouldn't understand."

"Try me," said Hermione, doing her best to keep the bite out of her words. She truly hated when people did that. A sudden image of Snape flashed through her mind and she shook her head. Lavender was speaking and was not even half as complicated as Snape was.

"...I know what you said, but it hasn't gone, not at all." _What?_   "It's the same, the very same, every few days. Now the wolf appears every time and stays longer," she whispered, fear clear in her eyes. "Some nights I can feel it coming and I am afraid of going to sleep."

 _It's the dreams,_ Hermione realised and suddenly she was on high alert. Recurring dreams? She asked Lavender to describe them to her again. A cell, a man and a girl, a shape-shifter? A goblin, a snake and a wolf, that eventually killed her, although the end varied slightly.

As she listened she couldn't help but be reminded to Harry's strange dreams the previous year. Could Lavender be possessed somehow or was it an actual prophetic dream? Hermione didn't know but in any case, she had the unsettling feeling it was becoming too much to be only a coincidence.

"Have you told anyone? McGonagall?"

"No! And you can't, either. You know how she is with Divination..." Hermione knew, but she also knew that their Head of House would be at least as worried as she was about Lavender. However, Lavender was adamant and insisted, her voice becoming shrill. "Promise me! Promise you won't tell anyone!"

"I promise," Hermione hurried to assure, afraid of being heard. "But I don't know what to do, I don't know much about dreams...Maybe Professor Trelawney?"

Lavender's face fell.

"I did tell Professor Trelawney," she admitted, "but she says she doesn't know, that if I had the Sight it would have shown before..."

Hermione pressed her lips together, suppressing a huff. Although not unexpected, Trelawney's uselessness didn't endear her to Hermione. Another look to Lavender's despondend posture made her realise just how hard it must have been for Lavender to hear that directly - that it was unlikely that she was a Seer. After all, Lavender had never manifested any other ambition since their third year.

"Look, I can't promise you anything, but I’ll do some research, see what I can find. After all, the workings of the Inner Eye are often mysterious... isn't that what Trelawney always said?" said Hermione, confidently, trying to cheer her up. "If I discover anything, I’ll let you know.”

The other girl nodded gratefully, looking slightly more relieved, and squeezed Hermione's hand. Suddenly they both stared at the floor, feeling awkward.

"Well, I must be going..."

Hermione nodded, and watched her go, feeling a headache coming. She was busy enough without adding Lavender's problems to the mix, she thought, rubbing her face.

She was a saint, she thought again. _But not today_ , she decided, looking back at _"Tales of a Raven"_ , still on the table.

Hermione didn't know that would be the last quite afternoon she would have in a long time.

\----------------------------------

The very next day, a new trouble entered her thoughts by means of a ministry sealed letter she received at breakfast. She glanced instinctively towards the High Table, meeting the professor's black eyes. He made a gesture with his head. ‘ _Later’_ , she understood, and so she put the letter inside her robes, ignoring a curious look from Harry. If he was able to keep secrets so was she, she thought pettily. The truth was that his friend’s meek compliance with the Headmaster wishes still stung.

She finished her breakfast quickly, send the professor a meaningful look, and returned to their rooms.

When she arrived he was already there.

“How did you..?”

“Not now,” he cut, not quite able to hide his smirk, and proceeded to open his letter.

She imitated him, skimming quickly through hers. It was just how they had dreaded: their marriage was called into question. A Ministry official would come to their home the following week and she was to go to the ministry on February 27th to be questioned. She only hoped that questioning didn’t involve veritaserum.

“Are you being questioned too?” She asked, nervously.

“Yes,” he answered, irritatingly impassive. “On March 30th.”

“Oh, drat. My appointment is the day before.”

“Let me see,” he said, frowning and reading over her shoulder. “I will take these to the Headmaster. You must go to your lessons.”

She nodded. She had expected the visit and some kind of questioning from the Ministry part, but she had naively hoped to go through it with him. She didn’t want to think too much about why she had felt so much more confident while thinking she would have him by her side.

That afternoon she didn’t stop by Gryffindor tower, but marched directly into his office after her last lesson. At his chilling look, she faltered.

“Good afternoon. Er... were you expecting someone?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your bussiness, Miss Granger,” he replied icily.

“I just wanted to know if you were free to talk, Professor,” she retorted snippily. He scowled. Hermione held up her hands. “Look, I’m not coming as a student. I wanted to know if you have talked with Professor Dumbledore about the letters.”

“If you are not coming as a student, don’t come to me _at all_ during my office hours.”

She sighed, so he was being difficult.

“Fine. See you later in our quarters, _Professor,_ ” she couldn’t help but quip as she turned.

“Miss Granger!” he warned.

She turned to face him once more, and they held a battle of glares.

“Don’t you ever even _think_ of mocking me in public,” he hissed.

She refused to back out again, even if his intensity never failed to intimidate her.

“We are not in public.”

“We are. Anybody could enter at any moment and the castle walls have ears. In case you haven’t noticed, the portraits _do_ speak.”

“ _I know._ But in case _you_ haven't noticed there are no portraits here," she realised suddenly just how close they were shouting at each other and stepped back, averting her eyes, all her anger suddenly gone.  She sighed. "I'm not that reckless, you know."

“You are a Gryffindor. Of course you are reckless,” he snaped, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and Hermione thought he also sounded more tired than angry. “Wait. I’ll go with you.”

They walked in silence side by side ignoring the glances of three five years that crossed them at the corridor. She supposed that since they usually weren’t seen together, that was still considered a novelty.

What she did consider a novelty was the fact that he opened the main door to their quarters, behind a water nymph portrait, and let her pass first.

Their conversation was pretty straightforward. They would intensify her occlumency lessons and orient them towards diverging thoughts from words, to be able to lie without comprimising what she was telling.

That proved to be extremely hard to acomplish. He bombarded her with questions, atacking her mind simultaneously. Day after day she went to bed exhausted and with a head splitting headache that not even the blue vials were able to erase. She noticed he had to take one most nights too.

He was demanding but patient, answering all her doubts as best as he could, even if it was patently clear he was uncomfortable talking about sensations. In turn she never complained. However, during these occlumency lessons he never achieved the level of relaxation she had witnessed during their discussion about magical theory, and Hermione couldn't help but wish it would happen again. Had she offended him that much?

Not that she had much time to argue about anything, really. Between her homework, her project and the occlumency lessons she filled every minute of every day and went to bed exausted. Even Harry and Neville, who weren't known by their observation powers, had started sending her increasingly worried glances. She had told them she had a citation at the Ministry and that she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.

Before any of them realised it, they were the day before the visit of the Ministry official.

“No blue vials today?” she smiled humourlessly.

“No, Miss Granger. Today you – we – are saving our energies.” He sat on his armchair. Seeing her clearly relieved face he added.“We need to talk about tomorrow, though.”

She frowned, but said nothing. He arranged the cuffs or his sleeves studiously. She was struck with the thought that he was nervous.

“You understand that tomorrow we will have to play a part.”

She nodded, more intrigued by his body language than by his words.

“As the main ‘concern’ of the brainwashed idiot the Ministry will send will undoubtedly be to determine if you are truly circunventing the Integration Act, you must look as ‘magical’ as possible. You are to hide into your room all the muggle artifacts you may have outside it. You should dress in robes, if possible, and keep your references about the muggle world to a minimum – specially if they are positive ones. Try not to look overly fond of your childhood memories.”

She nodded again, clenching her jaw, it was reasonable even if she didn't like it.

“Also, I must remind you that the Ministry dolts are not the only ones interested in the status of this marriage...”

He didn't say anything further and Hermione observed him, puzzled, for a minute before her eyes widened, realising the implications.

“So doomed if we do, doomed if we don’t,” she whispered, anxiousness creeping into her eyes.

“Whatever you mean by that?” he asked sharply.

“I mean” she enunciated slowly, while her mind raced, “that if we play the ‘happy couple’ to appease the ministry officials you’re doomed, as I doubt Voldemort would be happy with that.”

"Don’t say his name!" he hissed.

"Sorry," replied Hermione absently, absort in her reasoning. "And if we don’t play the part they will force us to divorce and, in that case, I’m the doomed one, as I will likely have to marry a true Death Eater the next time. We fail in both scenarios,” she ended whispering, her eyes unfocused.

“It would be a adequate assessment of the situation… if a dash of Slytherin cunning wasn’t sorely absent,” he said dismissively. “Well, in this case more like a wide brush, if you ask me.”

Her eyes flickered fiercely.

“Then, by all means, illuminate me. Tell me what’s so 'sorely absent’ in my assessment and stop being such a g-” she kept herself in check at the last moment while he merely raised a half challenging-half amused eyebrow, baiting her further.

She couldn't help the growl of frustration coming from the back of her throat.

“I will praise the other Houses when their members prove themselves worthy of it,” he stated. “Now cease your tantrum and _think_ ; if you were in the Dark Lord's place and one of your spies found himself stuck with your enemy's best friend, what would you do? _Really_ _do_. Prove me you can deal with the actual world.”

She loved challenges, and so her anger was nothing but forgotten as she turned the question over in her mind, under his watchful eyes.

"I would employ my spy to try to earn her trust because she could possibly reveal even more valuable intelligence than the one he gathered on the Order meetings.”

“And why is that?”

“Her information would be unofficial and wouldn’t lead the Order to believe they had a spy in their midst,” she stated firmly. “Or well, you could try to lure me to change sides – though I find unlikely anybody would think that possible. In any case, if you got my trust, you would have a strong cover and defence against the order's mistrust. I mean, it's not that you aren't trustworthy, but being a spy... well, ah, hmpf, let's just say I'm above suspicion. And apart from that, having my trust you could play me like a puppet, and I would be completely oblivious,” she ended somewhat uneasy.

“Indeed,” he said, giving her a nod, and Hermione was surprised to recognise the slightless hint of approval.

“And for that purpose you were ordered to treat me kindly, I suppose. To try to gain my trust.”

“Obviously.”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong, I have to look... _happy_ of being with you? Nobody would buy that - I mean, it's been little more than a month and everybody thought we hated each other...”

“An adequate analysis, Miss Granger, although poorly expressed. _‘Content_ ’ should be more than enough for the time being. It wouldn’t be amiss that you still look a tad uncomfortable at times. We will use our given names... it could be a nice touch if a ‘professor’ or 'sir' slipped from you at some point.”

She mulled over it for a while.

“Keeping the Dark Lord content is more important than convincing the Ministry, isn’t it?”

“Far more important, Miss Granger. If he is satisfied with us, he will keep the Ministry off our backs.”

“What will satisfy him?”

“That you show potencial to be an ally. If you show both respect and the beginnings of trust in me, he might start to consider you useful.”

“But I already trust you. Where does that leave us?” she insisted, a cold feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She felt at that moment that something didn’t quite fit, that there was a huge piece of the puzzle she was missing.

“The Dark Lord was lead to believe you hate me as much as your dear friend Potter, but due to my ‘heroic’ intervention to save you from the other Death Eaters and your own sensibilities you are slowly warming towards me,” he replied, suddenly appearing bored. Hermione reckoned he was getting tired of the conversation, he had been more patient than usual. _Still..._

“Ok, so that explains why I have to look uncomfortable, but then, you were just supposed to watch out in case I had a slip?” She asked incredulously. Her logic capacity was at full running. “That’s far too vague. Even if I came to trust you or even if I got to consider you a friend, I would never betray Harry. _Never,_ " she stressed _. "_ Not to mention Dumbledore's specific orders about it...”

Hermione thought she saw him stiffen. Had she offended him? He already knew there was something he shouldn't know - he saw the pensieve every day - and come on, he was no social butterfly. It was impossible he would be able to get information out of her during, say, a conversation in a pub... _Wait._

"Does the Dark Lord know you are a legeremens?" she asked bluntly, then bit her lip, knowing she had probably gone too far. He didn't react well to direct questions in general and he was particulary sensitive - and tight-lipped - about his _other job_.

However, to her surprise, he didn't explode. In fact, he leant back against his armchair, observing her consideringly.

“That is not for you to know. And it most certainly isn’t your place to second guess the Dark Lord orders, specially if they have _nothing_ to do with you.”

“These have _something_ to do with me!” she pointed skeptically. Had that been a 'yes' or a 'no'?

“No. They have something to do with _me_. They don’t affect you until the Headmaster decides they do. So I would think we have overstepped our boundaries.”

He stood and walked towards his bedroom, efectively ending the conversation.

“I suggest you go to sleep. Tomorrow you will need your rest.”

“G’night,” she mumbled, not wholy satisfied with his answers. They made sense, yes, but...

She shook her head, reaching her bed and realising just how tired she was. Surely the uneasy feeling had more to do with the nerves for the interview the next day than with anything else. Although if the Ministry official was as much of a dolt as most of the ones she had met - with the notable exceptions of Mr. Weasley - she shouldn't have much to worry about.

And with these reasuring thoughts, she went to sleep, completely unaware that the other inhabitant of the dungeons was having a harder time to put his mind at ease.

 


	13. Ministry Interference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I rewrote Chapter 12 and added a new scene! (Sorry about that!)  
> It is not a crucial scene, but I think it helps character development - plus, I had it written already and didn't want to leave it behind ^^  
> And a second warning for those who have bookmarked the story: Usually when I modify a chapter is only to make small corrections in grammar or spelling. I will warn of any major changes - such as this one - through notes. I tell you this because I am new to Archive of our Own and I still don't know if you are notified when I modify a chapter or only when I post a new one - I would appreciate it if anyone could clarify this for me, btw :D  
> Thanks for reading!

It had been only ten minutes, but Hermione already knew she detested Elinor Jenkins. Not that she had had great expectations to begin with, she thought while valiantly trying to hold her polite smile.

Mrs. Jenkins had arrived at Hogwarts' gates with a sunny smile that had not faltered even when confronted by Snape's customary scowl. Once in their quarters, she had entered every room as if she owned them, peeking and prodding everywhere. Hermione had to admire her perseverance - and courage - at insisting in seeing the private lab even after one of Snape's most chilling glares. Jenkins had even managed to get him to explain what he was concocting - some experimental antivenim, apparently - and he had done so in such an frosty tone that Hermione had been expecting icicles to start sprouting from the ceiling at any moment.

When Jenkins had made to start rummaging in the small storage room hiding her true bedroom, he had pointed out that he had been a Potions Master for many years and that he could not vouch for the innocuousness of the contents of every jar and drawer in their quarters. That finally had the Ministry woman deciding that the inspection was finished and that it was time for a little chat.

And so Hermione had happily let herself be guided towards the sofa, where she sank gratefully. Although her facial muscles hurt from smiling she wasn't sure she was making a very good impression of being comfortable. It would be much easier now the actual inspection was over.

However, her relief was short-lived, as she quickly realised that to show an united front they couldn't really sit at opposite sides of the sofa. She shifted slightly towards the centre of the sofa, masking the movement when she leant over to pick her cup of tea, that had appeared on the table. She thought Snape must have thought something along the same lines because when he sat back he was so close that their elbows brushed. None of them moved to correct the situation.

Jenkins, after politely thanking them for the tea, started addressing her questions to Hermione, until Snape made an offhand remark about his apparent superfluousness in the meeting that had Hermione suppressing a smile. From that moment on all the questions had been directed at some point on the wall between the two of them, apparently Mrs. Jenkins' bravery not extending as far as to meet Snape's gaze.

Hermione had to admit that Snape's acerbic disposition, although incredibly challenging on an everyday basis, was proving to be extremely useful.

It unfortunately wasn't enough to prevent the exhausting interrogation that at that point was starting to get ridiculous.

"So, could you name your husband's three favourite pies?" had asked Mrs. Jenkins, who had a seemingly endless supply of inane questions written in her notebook.

"Er-"

"If my only reason for entering a marriage was to have a good cook, I would have married a house elf," he cut sharply, finally earning him a sputter of indignation from Jenkins and a grateful smile from Hermione. "Besides which, I don't like pies."

Hermione couldn't held back a chuckle, relieved, as she truly had no idea what he liked to eat at all. However, Jenkins recovered quickly.

"So, what exactly was your reason for entering this marriage then, Mr. Snape?"

"That is an incredibly impertinent question, Mrs. Jenkins."

"Why, the Ministry-"

"I understand the Ministry is keeping watch for abuses under the newly instaured law," cut Snape. "However, as our marriage did not happen under said law I would say we have been more than accommodating. We have allowed you into our home and have answered more questions than what would have been polite or even appropriate. And we will attend our respective citations, even if their very existence is offensive. So I would say this conversation has been going on long enough," he said, leaning forward, his tone becoming dangerous.

Hermione thought he was being quite convincing, but even she considered that threatening a Ministry official was going a bit too far in their pretense. Unless he was genuinelly angry... Before she could think what she was doing, she had placed her hand on his shoulder to calm him.

If that gesture surprised him, he didn't show it, but instead leant back and recovered his previously relaxed position. Hermione fought not to react when he took her hand from his shoulder and squeezed it before she could take it back. _Think he's Ron,_ she thought quickly. _No, not Ron. Harry._

In any case, something in Elinor Jenkins expression had changed, and she stood up, finally losing her artificial smile. Hermione and Snape followed suit.

"You will forgive me if my questions seemed intrusive, Mr. Snape - Mrs. Snape - but as you remarked, the proper application of the new law is a matter of great concern for the Ministry."

"We understand," said Hermione, finding her voice. "It has been a long day for all of us..." she continued, conciliatory, as they watched Jenkins put on her cloack and pick her bag.

The woman accepted her explanations with a curt nod, but the walk towards the gates was made in a silence neither Hermione nor Snape felt obligued to fill.

"Well, that was unexpected..." commented Hermione when she saw Jenkins disapparate at the other side of the gate. Her companion remained silence. "Did we pass, do you think?" she prodded, on the walk back to the castle.

"I think so," he conceded, but it wasn't until they reached their quarters and Hermione was on her way to her bedroom that he spoke again. "You will have lessons with the Headmaster this week."

She stopped short.

"Why?"

"Because we have deemed it appropriate," he answered simply, his face shuttered.

Hermione nodded her acquiescence, seeing he wasn't in the mood to talk, and went to bed. However, she had a hard time falling asleep, unable to discard the feeling she must have slipped somewhere, must have disappointed him somehow, for that to be necessary.

 

The lessons started the very next day, and Hermione soon realised they would be trickier in a way she had not expected. In comparison with Snape's, the Headmaster's exploration was, at once, more distracted and random, but also more piercing and blunt. Where Snape sneaked by almost unnoticed, he prodded and pushed - without warning.

Hermione was also surprised to find herself preferring Snape's lessons. It was disconcerting. In some ways the atmosphere was far less tense and agressive than with Snape, but at the same time, her dealings with the Headmaster always left her feeling she had been skating over a very thin layer of ice, that kept her from clearly seeing the truth underneath. She unfailingly ended the day with a massive headache that she suspected had more to do with her trying to ascertain if there was a hidden meaning in the Headmaster's words than with the Occlumency itself.

Maybe it was just that she wasn't used to polite conversation anymore.

"I must confess Severus didn't let on about the true state of your abilities, but I think we have reason to feel very optimistic," said the Headmaster after their third lesson, in which he had only once managed to make her slip, and that under a lot of pressure.

"Then why is it that you decided I should have these lessons with you?" she asked, unable to contain the question any longer.

"Oh dear, if I had known you found them so disagreeable..." he said, mirthfully.

"Of course not!" she hurried to assure, blushing. "It's just that I am curious, Headmaster. That's all."

"Ah, curiosity, that unstoppable force..." he answered with a gentle smile. "It was decided it would be convenient for you to try your luck against another legerements - and another questioning style. Not all of us have the same methods."

"Oh, I see."

"However, that is not all you wish to ask, is it?" he said perceptively.

"I wondered if it was in some way related with my having to use the pensieve with Professor Snape."

The Headmaster maintained his mild expression, but he took some moments before he answered, which told Hermione she had hit a nail.

"It does not," he said, then surveyed her over his glasses, adopting a serious expression. "Miss Granger, as you are aware we are immersed in a particularly difficult battle, in which intelligence and not action is the weapon of choice - so far. We must be very careful with the information at our disposition and I consider vital to try to avoid, as the saying goes, putting all eggs in the same basket," he said with a faint smile. "As you might have gathered already, Professor Snape's basket is quite heavy as it is."

Hermione nodded, understandingly. So it wasn't a matter of trust, but of burden.

"But what about me? Now that my skills are improving, do you think I could go back to helping Harry with his...mission?"

The Headmaster observed her appraisingly for a few seconds before his smile came back.

"My dear, I think you should focus on getting through your current situation first. Then, we shall see, " the Headmaster must have picked on her dissent on her face, as he added: "Do not trouble yourself with these matters just yet. Harry has still a lot to learn and I am sure he will pass on the information when the time is right."

Hermione pasted a sheepish smile on her face, and stood, knowing she was being dismissed.

"Thank you for answering my questions, Headmaster."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."

 

\--------------------------------------

 

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt was having a hard time feigning nonchalance. He had easily managed to be in charge of the questioning of the potions master partly for his impeccable reputation and partly for the healthy respect - nearing fear - the Hogwarts Professor instilled still in most of his acquaintances. Nobody would think strange that an auror wanted to lead that one. However, he couldn't have possibly justified to be be in charge of Hermione's questioning without the risk of arising suspicions from his superiors. Tonks was still a low-rank auror because of her youth and the rest of the Order members inside the Ministry weren't in any position of help.

So even though, having being assigned to the Snapes' case, he was to be present in Hermione Granger's interrogation under veritaserum (unlike Snape, who was to wait in the waiting room during the proceedings), he was powerless to control the questions and their formulation.

He kept repeating himself Albus' words: "You did well. Our priority is to protect Severus' testimony. We will prepare Hermione and hope for the best."

It still bothered him terribly. It was true that her questioning shouldn't necessary put in danger any order information, but she was a key piece in Voldemort's fight and was also immersed in whatever it was that Harry Potter was doing with Albus.

He heard the doors opening and stood to shake professionally her hand, as did the other two ministry officials present.

She seemed poised, he was relieved to note, and the resolute and severe expression of her face made her look older than her seventeen years.

_Maybe Dumbledore knew what he was about..._

 

\------------------

 

Hermione, in truth, had to reach for all her Gryffindor courage to hide the trembling of her hands while rendering her wand.

She felt slightly reassured when she recognised Kingsley between the officials, but she already knew he wouldn't be the one asking the questions.

 _Focus_ , she ordered herself, and repeated Snape's words of the night before ' _remember, don't try to lie. The struggle will be noticeable and that will put them on track. Just angle it. A small part of a whole truth is still true.'_

The diffident tone he had employed told her he was saying something he considered personal, so she had learned it by heart. If that trick was what allowed him to fool Voldemort she should be able to fool a couple of Ministry officials that might not even know legeremancy.

With those thoughts Hermione took a seat in the chair they offered and waited for them to speak, feeling immensely more calm.

"Miss Granger, I am Harold Greyfus and these are Mr Shacklebolt and Mrs. Jenkins, who you have met already." Hermione nodded towards the woman that visited their quarters the previous week.

"I am Vice-Secretary of Magical Law Enforcement - Contractual Matters division - and I will be the one conducting this meeting," Harold Greyfus continued, and Hermione nearly scoffed at the word 'meeting'.

"Nice to meet you. However you have gotten my name wrong, Mr. Greyfus; it's Mrs. Snape. It has been so for almost two months now," she said, smiling slightly, although she didn't manage to make it look entirely innocent. "I thought that was also the motive I am here today."

She observed them in turn, gauging their reactions, and trying not to look as surprised at her bravado as they did. She didn't know if she was approaching the meeting properly or if she was making a fool of herself, but the approving gleam in Kingsley's face reassured her somewhat. The Headmaster had told her at their last meeting that they were expecting a terrorised child and she fully intended to prove them wrong.

The frowning Mr Greyfus cleared his throat and extracted a translucent vial from his robes.

"I see. Forgive me, Madam. Well, as you were informed, today you are summoned to answer some of our questions under veritaserum," he said, and nodded towards the vial. "The objective is to clarify if there has been any irregularities in the contract of your nuptials, as they involve a member of Hogwarts' faculty. There will be just one regular dosage of Ministry-certified veritaserum, and the questions will strictly address the matter under discussion. Do you agree to this terms?"

"I do."

"Kingsley, if you please..." Greyfus said, checking a box in his parchment.

"Of course," Kingsley answered in a bored tone, taking the vial and approaching Hermione. "Would you prefer tea or coffee?"

"I'd rather take it directly, if it's the same to you," she answered firmly but politely.

It was a weird feeling, veritaserum. One felt terribly relaxed, all of a sudden, and everything seemed clear and straightforward. She wondered, not for the first time, if it would be effective for self-reflection too. Could one lie to oneself?

"Could you please state your name?"

Hermione decided to test the waters and check just how strong was the compulsion.

"Me?" she asked, knowing perfectly well that question was for her. That meant their veritaserum wasn't nearly as strong as Snape's. She wouldn't have been able to stall with his, she thought with satisfaction.

"Yes, Mrs. Snape."

"Hermione Jean Snape, nee Granger."

"Blood status?"

"Muggleborn, although I do not see the point of this question."

Greyfus flickered his pale eyes towards her briefly before continuing.

"Are you married?"

"Yes, to Severus Snape."

"What is your opinion of Severus Snape?"

"Severus Snape is an intelligent and honourable man, one I respect very much. He is also short-tempered and can be quite irritating at times," she continued, to avoid the question she expected would follow," but nobody is perfect."

Kingsley gave a choked cough and Hermione fought to keep a straight face. Greyfus was not amused.

"When did you get married?" he shot.

"On January 9th, 2007."

"Did somebody force you into the marriage?"

 _Strictly,_ "No."

 Hermione pressed her lips, concentrating. She knew the hardest questions would follow.

"Did you feel coerced or were you threatened in any way to enter this marriage?"

That was one of the question she had trained for. She quickly looked for alternative interpretations. _That's it! Focus on the second part of the sentence_ , she thought intently. Did you feel coerced _or_ were you threatened...

"No, I wasn't threatened by anyone."

 _Oops, they might note the amendment._ She had to fix that. _  
_

"I think I can make things easier for you" added Hemione quickly, then cleared her throat. "I entered this marriage on my own free will."

"Very well..." said Greyfus raising his eyebrows and shuffled a couple of papers before asking the next question. "Were you aware there are regulations forbidding relationships between teachers and pupils?"

"Yes, I was. The first regulation was established after Headmaster Augustus Blake got three of the students pregnant simultaneously in 1284. Three years afterward-"

"That will be enough, Miss Granger-"

"Mrs. Snape," she corrected.

"Mrs. Snape," agreed Greyfuss, irked. "I ask you to be as concise as possible in your answers from now on."

Hermione nodded.

"Were you aware then that you were breaking school rules?"

"No."

Greyfus huffed, exasperated.

"But you just said you were aware of the rules..."

"Yes, I did."

"How do you explain that?"

"I disagree with your premise. I did not break any rules."

"Could you elaborate?"

"Yes."

As time passed and no further answer was forthcoming, Mr. Greyfuss squinted at her in suspicion.

"Why don't you answer my question?"

"I answered your question," replied Hermione calmly.

"What?" asked Mr. Greyfus sharply, swelling in indignation.

Mrs. Jenkins intervened, realising the problem, and whispered furiously on Mr. Greyfus' ear. Kingsley had his head up and seemed fascinated by one of the cracks of the ceiling.

"Very well. Mrs. Snape, elaborate on my previous question, _please,_ " Greyfus grounded out.

Hermione tried to remain unfazed.

"Gladly. I never broke Hogwarts' rules because what the regulations condemn are intimate relationships between a teacher and a student when they are not joined in marriage. Together, it is understood."

"Of course," agreed Mrs. Jenkins, pleasantly. Hermione was struck that she seemed the most encouraging one of the group. _When did she change her mind?_

"Ahem, well. The thing is nothing untoward ever happened between my husband and me before the wedding, so the regulations do not apply," she answered primly, blushing slightly. Then added in a lighter tone: "I did say my husband is a honorable man."

It was clear the 'meeting' was clearly not going according to Greyfus liking and a vein was pulsing dangerously at his forehead.

"Please, Miss Granger, you can't expect us to believe you married your teacher - Severus Snape, no less - on your own volition, without ever even-"

"That is exactly what I expect," Hermione cut, before he could had more clauses that may not apply her situation. "I wouldn't have taken veritaserum otherwise."

Suddenly she saw a way out. She folded her hands on her lap and straightened her back, looking royal.

"I do not know what kind of behaviour you witnessed or exercised at Hogwarts, but it seems I am most certainly not _that_ kind of people."

Whatever Greyfus was about to say - which didn't look as if it was going to be nice - was cut short as Kingsley Shacklebolt had a violent coughing fit.

"Are you alright?" snaped Greyfus without even looking at him, clenching and unclenching his fist around his quill and glowering at Hermione.

"I'm fine, thank you. A bit irritated by your insinuations, though" answered Hermione promptly, not able to resist the temptation to tease him a bit further. Kingsley's coughing fit abruptly got worse.

"Forgive me," the auror said after a while with a commendable straight face. "Spring illness, you know..."

Kingsley coughing fit had apparently lasted long enough to allow everybody to calm down.

"Well, I don't see the point in continuing this meeting, so we will retire," snapped Greyfus, clearly having had enough for the day. "You may go," he said and stalked out of the room.

Hermione politely wished good afternoon to Kingsley and Jenkins, who gave her a small smile, and exited the room, being careful to do so at a relaxed pace and not skipping away, as she felt like doing.

When she came out the door, Snape rose from the chair swiftly, in a rare show of nervousness. Hermione could no longer keep the smugness out of her face and his stance relaxed immediately.

He didn't say anything but in a totally uncharacteristic gesture, he offered his arm, which Hermione took gratefully. Her hands were still trembling, and she held tightly onto his arm, finding his presence strangely reassuring.

"I gather it went well," he murmured on their way to the lift. Once the lift doors closed after them, he extricated his arm from hers gently.

"I should think so," she answered, a bit self conscious now.

They didn't speak another word until they arrived to their quarters, where he asked her to sit and poured her a glass of butterbeer.

"Thank you," she answered, no longer nervous, but still somewhat excited.

"Now, I'm afraid I have to ask you to revise the undoubtfully pleasant interview and tell me about it. I can watch it in the pensieve first, if you wish."

Hermione agreed, not really looking forward going through it again. She observed him while he went into the pensieve, sipping from her drink abstently.

The clear white light of the pensieve bathed his face, setting its planes and edges in stark relief. She took the rare moment to observe him. As the last time she had that chance, she was struck as how different she perceived him depending on the setting. At the classroom she still saw him as the unapproachable and fearful taskmaster with a beak of a nose and piercing eyes; in their quarters he was a constant, steady figure, dauntingly clever but no longer menacing. And now that she wasn't on her guard, expecting an interaction she only saw a man - a wizard - not quite old but with lines around his eyes, with thin lips and sharp cheekbones she had never noticed before.

Just then, he emerged from the pensieve and Hermione saw her old image of Snape superimposing on the regular, strangely unfamiliar face she had been watching up to that moment.

"Verdict?"

"You did well," he grudingly admitted, but a faint smile played at the corner of his lips. Hermione beamed, settling more comfortably on the sofa.

"So, everything will be quiet from now on..." said Hermione, stretching with a satisfied smile. She faltered at seeing his face darken.

"Yes, it should be so," he said, however, and Hermione decided to trust him and not to worry anymore.


	14. An Unhappy Birthday

_"Ron Weasley is in the infirmary. Poisoned."  
_

The words resounded in Hermione's head for a few seconds before the meaning sank. Then she ran to the infirmary faster than she ever remembered running.

"Harry! Colin told me - how's he?"

Harry only shook his head mutely, not taking his eyes from their friend. Hermione followed his gaze and blanched.

Ron was lying on the sheets, unmoving and looking waxy. Mme. Pompfrey made him swallow some pale liquid with some difficulty, then weaved her wand around him and tsked and frowned to the symbols that emanated from Ron's body.

Hermione went to grip Harry's hand, and realised he was holding something... a beer bottle??

"Harry, what- is that what he..?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me," ordered Hermione, but before Harry could make sense of what she was saying she had already taken the bottle from him and was running out of the infirmary.

As she dashed through the corridors, her breath becoming short, she bowed to learn to apparate as soon as she could. She was feeling so desperate than she didn't even remember it wasn't possible within Hogwarts' grounds.

When she stumbled into their quarters, she had to rest against the wall for a few seconds before being able to talk. The other inhabitant hurried to her side and was about to scan her with his wand when she waved him off.

"No... Professor... Ron, it's Ron... Poisoned."

He surveyed her quickly as if to ascertain she was telling the truth, then lowered his wand.

"Ronald Weasley's been poisoned?"

She nodded.

"Please-"

"Where is he?"

"In the infirmary," she said, taking a deep breath. "Mme Pompfrey is taking care of him for now, but he will need the antidote soon. Will you do it? please?" She begged, offering him the bottle.

"Is that the poison?" he asked and made to take the bottle. However, he dropped back his hand before even touching. "Where is Slughorn? He is the Potion Master."

"I know. He is in the infirmary too. But please, professor..." she pleaded, stepping closer, her arm still outreached.

Snape observed her, still hesitating.

"Don't you trust him?"

"I trust you more," answered Hermione firmly, holding his gaze steadily.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, as Snape finally took the bottle and marched towards the lab without another word. Hermione followed him.

He summoned a decanter from one of the shelves and situated the tip of his wand hoovering a few inches over the decanter filter. As he was about to pour the poisoned beer he looked up, apparently remembering her presence.

"There's no need for you to keep watch. You can go back there."

"I want to help."

"You won't be of any help until I discover what is this. Here," he said, making a wooden box float towards Hermione, "use the flu, go back to them."

Hermione didn't move, clearly torn. Snape heaved a long suffering sigh.

"I'll warn you via the floo if I need you when I'm ready to begin. Now go."

Hermione swallowed and picked the box, that had been poking her on the shoulders.

"Thank you I-" she faltered, lost for words. She shook her head, threw a pinch of powder into the fire and stepped into the flames.

Hermione arrived back to the infirmary just in time to see Dumbledore enter.

"Horace, could you fetch Severus for me?" asked Dumbledore after speaking briefly with Madame Pompfrey.

"He knows already," intervened Hermione. She felt the light blue eyes of the Headmaster piercing her. She guessed that in any other situation she might have felt self-concious but at that moment she didn't give a fig about the Headmaster's intentions and hidden meanings. "He's working on it."

"That's settled then," Said Dumbledore, still regarding her consideringly. "I suggest everybody rest for a while, even if you decide to keep watch. I'll contact Molly and Arthur. Horace," he said briskly, turning to the unsettled big man and walking with him towards the doors "may I have a word with you..?"

 

\------------------------------

 

Hermione was curled in the chair by the infirmary bed, her eyes fixed on Ron's pale face.

Ron was stable, after taking the draugh Professor Snape brought, and was surrounded by his parents, her sister and Harry. She realised she should probably go - she wasn't even on speaking terms with him - but something kept pulling her towards the familiar freckled face and long nose.

No matter how many times they had been in danger, specially Harry, for some reason it had been that time that had finally struck home: any of them could die any day, and they might not even see it coming. The feeling of danger was colder, more real now, than the fiery bravery that had accompany them in most of their dangerous excursions.

Something was poking at her shoulder.

"Hermione, we should leave. The infirmary is closing," said Harry.

Hermione nodded absently and followed him and Ginny out. When they stopped awkwardly she realised she had been following them towards Gryffindor tower.

She mumbled a goodbye and turned back, dragging her feet towards the dungeons. She hadn't moved from the chair in all day but the heart-gripping fear that had accompanied her during all the waiting hours had seemingly drained her. She felt exhausted, empty.

Snape looked up when she entered the room, looking almost as tired as she felt, and just when she thought she couldn't feel anything else that day, a wave of gratitude swept over her, freezing her in place.

Snape stood and approached with a frown.

Hermione couldn't help it; she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly around his waist.

He stiffened.

"Miss Granger, what-?"

"Thank you," she said forcefully. He seemed to relax minutely.

"Miss Granger..." he said again, and this time there was an edge of warning that made her aware of their position. Hermione stepped back, reddening slightly. "I assume Mr. Weasley is feeling better."

"He is," she smiled, relieved. "And all thanks to you."

"Stop the platitudes. It's my duty as a professor here."

"Not really. If it was anyone's duty we both know it was Slughorn's."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Suddenly Hermione realised something.

"You never called me back to the lab."

At that a faint smile flashed through his tired face.

"I said I would call you _if_ I needed you."

Hermione harrumped, and went to her room, however she couldn't quite keep the smile out of her face.

"Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight," he replied, for the first time.

 


	15. Friends again...

Even if none of them acknowledged it outloud, Ron's close brush up with death had made them rethink their priorities and they soon started behaving as if nothing had ever happened. It certainly helped that Ron had no longer Lavender attached to the hip.

However, the reason for this - still a mystery as far as Ron was concerned - had Hermione in turmoil. All the longing and half-defined hopes she had had in relation to Ron - and had tried to let go during the previous months - had come back with a vengueance, stronger than ever.

Now she found herself wishing, planning even, for the future. She was suddenly startingly aware of just how ephemeral was her marriage, and couldn't believe she had made such a big deal of it. After all, even now, it basically only stopped her from _visibly_ being with anybody else - not that she was thinking of jumping on anyone. Not really.

Then there were the glances. Hermione had noticed that ever since they 'got together' again, Ron had been sending her insistent looks. At first she had thought it was just a trick of her mind, being hyper aware of him; then she had fancied he just liked to watch her, but lately she had started to fear her own infatuation had been discovered.

When, after one of their DADA lessons, he pulled her towards an empty classroom Hermione felt as if her heart would burst. However, all her anticipation turned into puzzlement at seeing Harry had been equally dragged into the empty room.

“Hermione... are you really ok?” Ron blurted, and started reddening.

Hermione only blinked at him, confused.

"Married to the git, I mean."

 _Oh._ Hermione checked the surge of irritation and quelled the urge to correct him. After all, even she had to admit Snape had been specially mean during the last few weeks.

“I think so, yes. It’s only a marriage in paper, after all...”

He shook his head, and started pacing.

“But the vows and the bonds... they are serious things in this world, Mione. And I know you only took one, one you thought you would keep anyway, but... one just don’t mess with them,” he ended, his unease showing clearly.

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione, even as she started to see where he was coming from. It wouldn't be the first time she missed something just because most wizards, raised in magical homes, took something for granted and didn't bother to explain it in the texts.

“I don’t know... I’ve heard all kind of stories of vows and their consequences, and you bonded to Snape... it can’t be as simple as this,” he insisted, stubbornly.

“Ron, you’re scaring me,” Hermione said, wanting to kick herself for not researching it further. She didn't even hand over an essay without using at least three different sources, how could she have jumped on the marriage trusting a single book?

“No. Listen," kept saying Ron. "I’m just telling you to be on your guard. If you feel something strange with your magic or you feel odd or - whatever, I don't know - you will tell us won’t you?”

“Yes, of course I will,” she answered immediately, even as she realised that the bond might precisely prevent her from doing that. The feeling of dread in her stomach intensified.

“But Ron, Dumbledore was ok with them” intejected Harry. “He wouldn’t have let her make them if they weren’t safe.”

His tone was reasonable, but Ron's frown only deepened.

“Dunno, mate. How can you be completely sure that formulae is safe when nobody else has tried it before?”

His words struck Hermione, even more so because neither Harry nor herself seemed to have an answer to that.

“But Dumbledore...”

“Dumbledore might be the wisest wizart alive, but it isn’t as if he had a lot time to plan upon it and..." Ron glanced towards her "... and he needed urgently a way to keep his only spy safe.”

“The spies are the most important weapon in a war” Hermione whispered, suddenly remembering _“The art of War”_ , and exchanged a look of understanding with Ron.

Harry frowned, clearly upset.

“But Snape had to make a vow too. Besides, Dumbledore wouldn’t put his safety before Hermione’s.”

Ron shrugged looking acutely uncomfortable, clearly not wanting to elaborate the point. Hermione, however, did.

“I’m not you, Harry,” she said softly. “I’m not the chosen one, and he has known Professor Snape for years.” Hermione sighed at Harry's indignant look. “Look, I’m not saying he has done it in this case, but it is true Professor Snape’s role in this war is far more important than mine.”

Harry shook his head.

“I think you two are being paranoid. I think you should be more worried that Snape had tampered with the vows somehow, not Dumbledore.”

A tense silence ensued, neither Hermione nor Ron wanting to prolong the argument with Harry.

“Guys, it’s already lunchtime. The owls must have arrived by now. We should go check the Prophet.”

They nodded, awkwardly, while the tension between them dissipated.

“Let’s go.”

At the Great Hall, Lavender, as she had been doing for the last weeks, split her lunch between throwing baleful glances to Ron and venomous glares to Hermione.

Hermione, however, was feeling more guilt than irritation - in part because she spotted Lavender's rings under her eyes and suddenly realised she had totally forgotten about the other girls' dreams. She quickly dismissed the the niggling thought that she might just be looking for an excuse not to check her other pressing topic of research.

That very afternoon she scoured the Divination section about dreams, without finding anything conclusive.

When the torches flared up, late in the evening, she conceeded defeat.

Who was she kidding? It was improbable that she would have read something about divination that Lavender hadn’t. After all, Hermione only had been assisting to that lesson for a few months, and didn’t read that much about it since she wasn’t specially interested. Suddenly she wondered if perhaps Lavender was approaching her problem wrong. What if what was different, what was giving her trouble, wasn’t the dreams, but herself?

She followed the row of bookcases and examined the other Divination shelves. Lavender had been reading about dreams, she knew, but there it was, an entire shelf about seers methods and ailments.

Hermione reckoned it was a bit too theoretical for Lavender but still, if she liked the subject she could have possibly read about it. It couldn’t hurt to have a look, though.

She glanced back towards where she knew her table was with all her transfiguration books bitting her lip. She had wasted enough time already on that and she _really_ preferred going back to her research- she still didn't really want to think about the vows too closely. After a few vacillating seconds she relented and took the books back to her table.

_Hermione Granger, you’re a bloody saint._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's been a bit longer but the next chapter is also almost ready and will be up soon.
> 
> Also, I just realised I didn't write a disclaimer before, so here it goes: all the characters, places (and plot) that you recognise belong to J.K. Rowling - and maybe Warner?? - I'm just playing with them for a while. In any case I'm not making a penny out of this, it's just for fun.
> 
> Cheers!


	16. New intelligence

Hermione would never admit it to anyone but after the first few minutes, she was fascinated. All the stories and tales about seers brought her back to her childhood, when she heard about Cassandra and the Oracle and thought how wonderful was magic. The unease about the vows and her situation started to fade away.

It was close to curfew that she suddenly found something that made her heart speed up furiously.

Apparently some seers, specially those without seer blood on the immediate family, usually started manifesting their powers when reaching maturity, being prophetic dreams one of the most usual manifestations. That was it!

But Lavender was seventeen, and she was one of the first ones to get the period, now almost four years ago.

Hermione's hands started to sweat, as she scoured her mind for some other explanation than the obvious one, that was becoming clearer and clearer in her mind. Because, what was the other traditional 'maturity' milestone, the quintessential rite of passage?

The book slid through her fingers and dropped loudly onto the table.

Lavender had shagged Ron.

She raked one trembling hand through her hair, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Then, she clenched her hand into fists and let her face drop onto them, as thoughts and emotions swirled around in her brain. She felt anger, and the sharp stab of betrayal... although she knew perfectly well she didn’t have the right to feel betrayed in any way. She was the married one, in fact, she had never dated him, never even kissed him.

When the first silent tear fell over the book she realised she was not really angry; she was mourning. Mourning the loss of something she had never had and, now, would never have but, deep dowm, had been counting on.

She swore not to let this happen again, let her hopes take over her rational mind. That was her power: she was smart, and independant. She couldn’t be happy being all by herself, but neither did she need Ron or any other boy pending on her words.

 _And now you’re helping Lavender, because it’s the decent thing to do,_ she determined _._

The thought that at least now they were sure Ron was not a Seer flickered through her mind and Hermione chuckled wetly - no surprise there.

She took a few minutes to wipe her face, and thought carefully about what to do then, as she gingerly put the books back on the shelf.

Deciding that Lavender wouldn’t be receptive to anything about Ron coming from her – and she wasn’t paticularly keen on discussing him with her either – she went to the North tower to speak with Trelawney. It was quite late, but Hermione suspected if there was one Professor not bothering to follow a regular schedule it would be that one.

While she was waiting for the ladder to the Divination classroom to come down from the ceiling, she observed absently the Headmaster's tower, visible through the window, in which there was still light.

 _Another unpredictable one_ , thought Hermione, while climbing up the stairs.

The Divination Professor, upon seeing her, started muttering something about having forgotten to purify her soul crystals - which apparently were starting to blur her Sight and giving her a terrible headache - but Hermione was not about to turn away then and rudely interrumpted her.

“Professor, I  found-" then she stopped, having the sudden insight that the teacher would rather inhale her glasses than tell one of her favourite pupils that Hermione had been the one to give her the answer of a Mystic problem she hadn’t solved. She decided on another tactic. "Professor, you know I read a lot, and I was wondering how does one know if he or she possess the gift. I mean, there should be certain symptoms, or certain ways to potenciate it," Hermione started, trying to sound innocent.

“The true Seers always know. It’s an art that passes down from parents to children," the teacher said airily, putting back one of the crystals she had grabbed in haste a few seconds before. “For example, in my case, I’ve know as far as I can remember. It’s given from birth...”

“So it is known very young? Couldn’t it be awaken later in time?”

Trelawney blinked at her, clearly confused.

“Why would it be awaken? If one’s a seer, one knows, " she stated, losing a bit of her ethereal tone. "I don’t know why you trouble yourself with such matters, dear. As I've told you many times already books do not hold all the answers and in your case it’s clear that your aura isn’t... _vivacious,_ let’s say .”

Hermione bit her tongue trying to keep herself from saying something she would regret as the other woman reorganised her shawls around her.

“You mean that the seers come only from magical families and only if they have a direct ancestor that was also a seer? Because this book says that sometimes the inner eye lies dormant until something awakens it.”

“You, my dear, put too much faith in the books, and not nearly enough in magic. There is much more knowledge to be had in the mists of the future than in those material things you admire that much.”

Hermione thought that only a fraud like Trelawney would call books 'material things'. She prolonged the discussion as much as she could, alluding the book a couple of times more about awakenings and premonitory dreams, and then left the classroom in a huff. She didn’t even have to fake the frustration. However, she was careful of ‘forgetting’ to take the book with her, leaving it clearly visible on a chair with certain interesting pages bookmarked.

She directed her steps towards the dungeons, intending to skip Gryffindor Tower altogether, when she bumped into Harry, running in the opposite direction.

"Oomph- Harry, what are you doing up so late?"

"I did it, Hermione, I've got it!" he exclaimed, beaming at her.

"What?"

"I've got Slughorn's memory..." at Hermione's puzzled face, he shook his head. "Nevermind, I'll tell you later. Please wait for me at Gryffindor Tower."

"But Harry, I have to go back-"

" _Please_. Come on, it's not as if _he_ would know you are not in your room..." he said, and bounced away towards the Headmaster's office.

After half an hour pretending to read under Ron's increasingly worried glances, she forgot all her discomfort with Ron as Harry updated her on Horcruxes.

Hermione tsked at Harry's risky stunt with the Felix Felicis, but soon was far more concerned about what she was being told.

Horcruxes. Soul-splitting through murder. No wonder there was nothing even at the restricted section. And seven of them.

She shuddered unconsciously. She didn't even remember that she wasn't supposed to be told - and neither did Harry.

She went back to her quarters in a haze, and later she would think it had been miraculous that nobody caught her.

The next day, she was unable to focus on anything else. For the first time she wasn't the first to make her chair dance samba during Charms and Professor Flitwick even asked if she was feeling alright. She could count herself lucky that was the only practical lesson of the day.

 _And all the wizarding world could count themselves lucky Voldemort was such a self-centered, supersticious git_ , Hermione thought, because she didn't doubt he had killed many more than seven people.

_Still... seven. Seven pieces of soul. Seven pieces of Voldemort scattered around._

If Dumbledore was right, then they would be significant objects. Powerful or meaningful ones. While she was very relieved Voldemort hadn't turned a pebble into a Horcrux and thrown it in the middle of the ocean, Dumbledore's vague guesses weren't as reassuring to Hermione as they seemed to be to her friends.

She had discovered - on her first year, no less - that wizards could be a superstitious bunch. They would believe number seven had more power than number eight, that black dogs precluded death and that breaking mirrors earned jinxes but they would not believe in tooth fairies, black cats, spilling salt or walking under stairs. These beliefs seemed so utterly random to Hermione...

It was true magic wasn't generally very logical, but it usually had reasons, causes that could be researched and studied. Like potions. You could approximately predict the effects of a potion by studying the individual properties and interactions, ergo, there were rules.

Wand magic should work the same way and, as Hermione saw it, it made a huge difference to learn magic knowing there were rules, even if she didn't know all of them, instead of considering it completely random.

Going back to the potential items, Hermione thought her wand was both powerful and meaningful but, for her, so was Florean Fortescue's ice cream Parlour because it had been while sitting there, watching the people milling around with her astounded parents, that it had sunk in that she was a true, living witch. So, even if somebody discovered the parlour had been meaningful to her, how would anybody ascertain which chair or umbrella she had stored her soul into? Were there dark magic detector charms?

 _There has to_ , she thought, immediately thinking of Moody detectors, but why weren't they taught? That way Leanne could have checked Katie when she was acting strange. And Ginny could have checked the Diary, and maybe the Half-Blood Prince's book-

"You are uncommonly quiet," said a deep voice, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw Snape piling his parchments together, apparently done with his marking for the day. She hadn't even realised she was back at their quarters.

 "I would hardly call my usual turning of pages and scratching of quills 'noisy'," she answered with a faint smile, while he stretched and moved to the other armchair by the fireplace.

"You are doing neither," he pointed out, settling into the armchair and summoning a book. She had become familiar with his moods and was able to recognise he was in what she had labelled as a 'mild' one. It meant no headache, no injuries, no detentions, no 1st year parchments and no 6th year DADA. It also meant that whatever had him in a foul mood these last weeks had receeded.

"I was thinking," admitted Hermione, then considered him carefully. _Why not?_ She didn't dare ask for Horcruxes but... "I was wondering, is there any spell that detects cursed objects - dark objects?"

He closed the book he was about to read with deliberation.

"Many, with various degrees of efficiency and difficulty. Almost as many as curses, I daresay."

"Why aren't they taught?"

He stiffened, and Hermione wanted to kick herself. How could she keep forgetting how prickly he was with his subject?

"Well, considering the poor state of the class when I arrived and the special situation we are into," he answered snippily, "I considered other disciplines, such as basic shielding, more pressing than curse-breaking. As to the previous teacher's criteria, if they ever had any, I can not say."

"I wasn't criticising you, you know?" she mumbled tiredly. "You really are doing a good job,"

"Why, thank you. My heart rests lighter now that I have your approval," he answered, his voice heavy with sarcasm, but his anger seemed to abate. "Why the sudden interest?"

"It is just... I thought about Katie - the necklace - or Ginny in our second year. I can't help but wonder if we could have avoided it, if any of us had known..." she showed her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I know I would like to know how to."

They sat in silence, Hermione thinking ruefully that even if she had still botched the conversation, at least he no longer exploded around her. They had really come a long way, she realised, glancing at him. Did he still dislike her that much? Did he trust her, at least a little?

"Even if it was taught, you would never had known, back in your second year," he said, cutting into her thoughts once again. "There is another reason why curse-breaking isn't taught regularly: it requires a healthy dose of self-control that is only possible in the last years of education. To go further than the most simple 'finites' you are taught you also need a measure of natural talent not many possess," he said dismissively, with a hint of quiet confidence that Hermione took to mean he had indeed possessed that talent. She had the ridiculous urge to tease him about it. She shook her head and focused again.

"But what about detecting it, not trying to break it?" she asked. "We are taught to detect magic - magicum revelio - and its strength in charms, but not its intent..."

He was shaking his head.

"Asking a semi-sentient object or curse for its intent implies interacting with them, although superficially. Therefore we go back to curse-breaking."

"Semi-sentient?" she asked, her eyes bulging. Did he know?

"Quasi-sentient, if you prefer."

"No, I don't," she answered, shifting uncomfortably.

He, on the other hand, seemed vaguely amused.

"The non-sentient, regular magic can usually be dissolved with a simple 'finite'. To resist a wizard's will an object, or a spell, needs to have a will of its own - or something that resembles it," he chuckled, amused. "I don't know what you find so revolting. You use semi-sentient magic too..."

"I certainly don't!" she exclaimed indignantly. His smirk widened.

"Oh, and what do you think the patronus charm is exactly?" he inquired mildly.

That effectively stopped her in her tracks. But of course it was; it required a strong will and intent from the caster, couldn't be dissolved by 'finite's of any kind but only by another's strong will. It fit.

"You don't have to look so smug..." she mumbled, irritated at his expression.

"Oh, I disagree. It is not everyday that I manage to rend Hermione Granger speechless."

She scowled, but her thoughts turned quickly to the implications of his words.

"So there is no easy way of checking dark intent, then..." she said eventually, disappointed.

He observed her thoughtfully, his finger lightly tracing his lips.

"Well, there might be a way... I wouldn't call it easy, but it is simple," he said eventually, producing his wand. "And certainly safer."

Hermione leant forward, eyes lightling up with interest.

He summoned a wooden box from one of the cupboards and opened it, showing its contents to Hermione. _Chess?_

"Any preference?"

"Hmm, I'm not a very good player..."

He waved her explanation aside.

"We are not playing. Just pick one of the chessmen," he said, a hint of impatience permeating his voice.

"Oh, okay. The knight," she said, not really giving it much thought.

He lifted an eyebrow but didn't comment as he picked a white and a black knight. Then, as an afterthought, he also picked the second white one. Hermione realised then it was a muggle chess set.

He placed the three pieces on the side table between their armchairs and tapped the two white ones with his wand, a look of concentration on his face. Then, he pushed the black one - the one he hadn't touched - towards her.

"Bring your hand closer and focus."

"Focus on what?"

"In feeling. Just in whatever your hands capture. Feel the air in your fingertips. Feel the temperature - anything - but don't touch it."

Hermione obeyed, feeling silly. There was nothing, although after a few seconds her fingertips were hypersensitive and she could feel the almost-imperceptible currents of air in the room. She didn't say anything but after a while he seemed to think it was enough.

"Now try this one," he said, flicking his wand and sending one of the white ones closer to her. "Do _not_ touch it," he warned again.

She let her fingertips hoover over the white knight, expecting to feel a sting, or a rush of energy - something - but... There was nothing. She frowned.

"Focus," he commanded.

She bit her lip, determined. There had to be something. She took a deep breath and looked for the air currents she had felt before, and then, suddenly- _oh._

Her eyes snapped up to his, filled with wonder, and, to her surprise, he he gave her a small smile and a nod.

It had been a faint, almost imperceptible, awareness; but it had been there. She had felt magic, for the first time, a magic that was not her own. She extended her fingertips towards it again and this time it was easier to find it. It was there, she _felt_ it. She beamed at him.

"It is easier when you are not also surrounded by magic - this castle is as magical as it gets," he explained. "Try the last one."

She did, and after a few seconds she felt the same awareness, the dull tingling. She frowned.

"Are they the same?"

"No."

"Oh," she said, suddenly disappointed.

He snorted.

"Don't you think it's enough for a first try?"

She bit her lip.

"Yes, well, I suppose..." she bit her lip. It certainly wasn't enough to recognise a horcrux but, maybe, with time... "Thank you," she said, earnestly, meeting his eyes.

He nodded again, closing the wooden box.

"I will leave them as they are. One of them has a strong protection charm; the other, a stinging curse. Both activate by touch."

"Wait, you missed this one," she said, offering back the black knight.

"Keep it. Use it as a touchstone."

"Thank you," she repeated, following him with her eyes as he closed the cupboard and walked towards his room. "What am I supposed to feel? What is the difference?"

He stopped by his door, and she thought for a moment he wouldn't answer.

"It is different for each person," he said quietly. "You will have to find out yourself."

Hermione nodded, as she hadn't really been expecting a straight answer.

"Goodnight, Professor."

He seemed about to say something for a moment, but he changed his mind and only added a curt "Goodnight, Miss Granger" before closing his door.

Hermione stood a long time staring at the chess pieces, before grabbing the black knight and going to her room.

As she snuggled into her duvet, glancing wonderingly at the black chessman standing on her bedside table. It was the first night in a long while that her last thoughts before falling asleep weren't filled with Ron.


	17. Downhill

Spring came to Hogwarts and even with the exams approaching it was increasingly common to see students strolling around the lake, under the sun. However, most of the sixth years had started to realise that getting the hang of non-verbal spells was becoming a pressing matter, and Gryffindor Common Room was usually full of flying objects - which ranged from cushions to puffkeins - and scrunched up faces.

Having mastered them a long time ago, Hermione spend most of her time in Gryffindor Common Room getting her assignments out of the way so she could focus on her study sessions and side projects whenever in the library or her quarters. In the previous weeks she had scoured the restricted section in search for any information on Horcruxes, without success, and had finally been forced to accept there just wasn't any. She had also gone through most of the genealogy books in her search for the Prince, but the two most modern ones had been checked out and Madame Pince, for reasons unknown, refused to tell her by whom. She had started searching through the newspapers then, but it was tedious work on which she refused to spend more than 10-15 minutes a day, usually in between lessons.

Also, she had found out early on that it was in her quarters where she preferred studying since it was the only place free of interruptions and the most unlikely anybody would go ask her for help. And since Snape hardly ever spent time there anymore, she had been also able to further her animagus research unimpeded.

She had read all the ministry recommended books for prospective animagus and "Tales of a Crow" had become a fixed feature of her bedside table. There wasn't any known incantation to become an animagus - although she had learned the non-verbal reversal spell by heart - but there where some relaxation and concentration methods that were useful to identify and connect with her inner animal. As with magic detecting, after several frustrating sessions she had started to make progress, and from that moment on, with constant practise, her habilities seemed to inprove day by day. The same way now she was able to feel the enchantment on most of the suits of armour with minimum concentration, it was becoming easier and easier to reach to her inner animal at will. She had already ascertained it was a mammal - she could feel the hair - and had guessed it to be a small one - the heartbeat was faster than hers. Hermione was also able to feel its curiosity, and was fervently hoping for a cat.

Promising as her advances were, however, she was still hesitant to share her progress with her friends, not really keen of having to try to teach them or to report failure if she didn't managed it herself. 

It was while lost in these thoughts that Harry stumbled into Gryffindor common room, drenched and covered in-

"Is that blood!?" she asked, but Harry had already dashed up the stairs to his bedroom. He didn't seem to hear her either while he sprinted back through the portrait hole moments afterwards. When she confronted Ron, that came out of the stairs, he seemed to be as clueless as she was.

"He only asked for my potions book," he said, sottovoce, and Hermione felt the knot in her stomach tighten. She should have reported that book the first time. _What has he gotten himself into?_

Barely an hour later, however, all her concern was forgotten as she was stomping out of Gryffindor Common Room, barely able to muster enough sympathy to feel sorry for Harry missing the last Quidditch match. _How could he had been so stupid as to try a spell on somebody without knowing what it did?_

And even after nearly killing Malfoy, Harry still defended the Prince. She couldn't believe he was thinking of getting the book back. Of course, Ginny had to go defend him, while Ron had been pretending not to hear the discussion. _Weasleys_. She loved them to pieces but sometimes...

When she stopped fuming she had already opened the secret passage between the Great Hall and her (their) quarters, where she realised a very angry wizard would probably be waiting for an scapegoat. It was too late to back off, however, as the wards would have already notify him of her presence, if he was indeed there.

 When she opened the door the lights were dim, and she exhaled in relief. However, the moment she stepped into the room, a unwelcoming voice greeted her.

 "Well, well... already done consoling Potter?" asked Snape in a melodic tone. Hermione fought not to react as she tried to walk normally towards her room. "I would have thought it would take a bit longer, but then again, I always underestimate just how unimportant human lives are for the Chosen One..."

"That is unfair," she couldn't help but retort.

"Is it?" he said, standing up from the chair and coming into the dim circle of light coming from the fire embers. "And is it fair that a student is still allowed into a school after a murder attempt?"

"He wasn't trying to kill him," said Hermione, turning to confront him and stalling his retort with a raised hand. "He was careless and stupid, and he might have deserved to be expelled for it, but it wasn't a murder attempt."

"Oh, and how would you call slashing a classmate open from face to stomach and watch him bleed out on the floor?"

Hermione blanched. "I'm sure he-"

"Did you know the curse he used had a single, very specific countercourse?"

"No, I didn't but-"

"but you are sure Potter would, aren't you?"

Hermione didn't answer, being quite certain Harry didn't.

"You are being unfair. You always are with him. You've been trying to get him expelled since you set eyes on him just because you disliked his father. A father he never got to-"

"How dare you? You know nothing of me!" he bellowed.

"And you know nothing of Harry and still go after him!"

"I know that he must have been expelled ten times before now for his dangerous stunts!"

"Stop shouting at me! I told you I agree with you. I'm surprised he hasn't." Although very glad for it, she added in her head. However, some of that thought must have shown in her expression.

"Oh, do you? Are you going to admit at least that he is an arrogant halfwit with no disregard for the other people's lives?"

"He isn't like that! He didn't mean to-"

"Of course not," he cut "Saint Potter could never do wrong. Can you tell me how do you point your wand at somebody and cast a spell without meaning to?"

"He didn't know what the spell was for."

"Oh," said Snape with malice getting closer to her. "That's a completely different thing... And where exactly did poor Potter took that spell from?"

Hermione pressed her lips and fought not to recoil before his menacing advance. She knew lying to him was not an option.

"It's not for me to say," she answered, stiffly, and saw Snape's face contort in rage far too close for confort.

"Then _I_ will say it. From a book. From a Potions book, more specifically. Where is it?"

Hermione gaped.

"How do you know?"

"Enough to say that I've met that very book before. Where. Is. It." He asked again with the most menacing voice she had ever heard, his face barely two inches from hers.

Hermione just held his gaze in silence, breathing heavily.

"After all the rashness, his childish behaviour his constant and dangerous rule-breaking, all the deaths he has caused with his foolishness you are still covering for him," he said, suddenly quiet, then he stepped back. "How very disappointing."

The last sentence hit Hermione like a bullet. It made her try to press the point.

"You don't understand. He's a good person. Everything he does is to avoid other people getting hurt. He's never tried to harm anyone," she said pleadingly to his back, trying to make him understand.

"He's a cheat and a thief and he nearly killed Draco today!" He roared back, wiping his wand and advancing towards her. The center table, filled with books and parchments crashed against the thick glass windows. "He could have ruined everything. Everything!"

Hermione flinched and stepped back, truly afraid for the first time since she moved into these quarters.

Something flashed in Snape's face for an instant and he faltered, then rushed past her and into his office, closing the door with a bang.

Hermione picked up her bag and some of her books with shaking hands and hurried out of their quarters. She thought they had gotten a long way... but that was precisely the problem; she had gotten too confident. How could she had forgotten how scary Snape really was?

She ducked into the first empty room she saw and and let her bag slip between her fingers as she dropped onto a chair. She put her face between her hands, breathing heavily.

She had never shared Harry's suspicions about Snape's true allegiance, but after this lack of control, this violence... Was she still that sure? Should she start considering other options? He had been unhinged. Would McGonagall have lost it like this if it was one of the Gryffindors injured? Could Harry be right?

The thought made her heart pump furiously once again. And she had been foolish enough to treat him as if he was one of his friends, an overgrown, surly - and admittedly nastier - Harry...

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. No, that couldn't be. He had helped Ron, just because she asked. Harry had never seen eye to eye wherever Snape was concerned - not that she could blame him. And Snape had been close to lose a pupil, one of his Slytherins, closer than Harry had made it sound, for the looks of it. Everyone would be unnerved by that, she reasoned. And, thinking back, it was evident he had been already under strain, not only for the discussion Hagrid overheard but for the increasing absences, the longer patrols, the late working nights... She realised she hadn't seen him sit and enjoy a book in weeks - probably since their last 'talk'. Which brought her to another question: _what was he doing?_

Unable to give answer to it, but feeling considerable calmer, she picked up her bag once again and strode towards the Gryffindor tower... only to remember her recent spat with her friends. The library was a long way up and about to close. Suddenly she remembered a small courtyard on the first floor whose difficult access - one needed to ask politely to one of the armours - made it little known. She redirected her steps there, hoping for a much-needed peaceful end of the evening.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! It's been a while...  
> Everytime I think I'm back on track with this story real life keeps getting in the way, so I'm done trying to set deadlines for the new chapters - chances are I'd keep breaking them anyway. I just wanted to let you know that the story is not abandoned. As I said at the beginning the main plot and many scenes are already written, it's mostly canon adjustement and some 'bridges' that are giving me trouble and I keep working on them in my spare time (even if it's scarce).  
> Hope you are still able to go back into the plot and enjoy the story! ^^  
> Cheers!


	18. The Hidden Courtyard

"Good evening. I would like to access the courtyard" said Hermione politely to a polished suit of armour, and stepped back to make room for it to swing before her, opening the secret door to the courtyard on the first floor.

Only it didn't.

_Not polite enough?_

Hermione stepped back towards it and cleared her throat.

"Could you _please_ grant me access the courtyard?"

She was surprised to see the steel helmet rotate in what was a clear "no".

Hermione blinked, that had never happened before. Maybe it was because of the curfew but...

A movement in the corner of her eye reminded her of the presence of the portraits. She shouldn't really be seen after curfew. What had the armour in a snit?

Suddenly she remembered sir Cadogan and decided to give it a last try.

"Would you refuse to help a damsel in dire need, valiant knight? For I find myself in distress and I have need of a safe haven..."

For a second she thought it hadn't worked, but then the armour swung slowly, almost reluctantly, towards her. She frowned - she didn't really enjoy playing that card - but still took the time to give the knight a swift "thank you" for good measure.

However, the moment she crossed the threshold, she froze at seeing a tall figure.

"You might as well step in and allow Sir. Caradoc to swing back to its place, since you already managed to get him to move" said the severe voice of Minerva McGonagall, although as the older woman's features came into view as Hermione stepped closer, she could see the professor looked more tired than annoyed.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, Professor."

"Nevertheless, you were quite insistent in getting in, weren't you?" Hermione sent her a surprised glance. "Either that or he favours you... He has had, so far, the deference of not letting students in while I am occupying."

"I might have been a bit insistent," admitted Hermione. "It's been quite a long day and this is... peaceful. I didn't know it was occupied, though."

McGonagall nodded and walked back towards the other end of the courtyard, where there was a balcony with a view to the forbidden forest. Hermione hesitated, not sure if she should follow or leave.

"Drop the bag, Miss Granger. If your day has been as long as mine - and I bet it has..." she said, surveying her with a critical eye, "...it would do you good to clear your head."

Hermione approached the railing and breathed in the crisp air. A sidelong glance told her the professor was also enjoying the breeze, eyes closed. She did the same and focused on the faint fresh smell of trees coming from the forbidden forest. Almost unconsciously she started sensing for magic and felt it around her, under her, even on the railing she was leaning against, under her fingertips...

"One of these days one of you are going to give me a heart attack," the older woman finally said, out of the blue, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. She, however only needed a second to connect the dots. Harry. Malfoy. 

She nodded. Then she felt the professor turn slightly to look at her.

"Did the old boy give you much trouble?"

 _What boy? Harry? Malfoy??_ , thought Hermione.

Some of her puzzlement must have been reflected on her face, for McGonagall added, "Severus, I mean."

"Oh..." said Hermione, reddening, not knowing what else to say. _Old boy?_

"Of course he did. He was in a mighty snit when he left Dumbledore office, I can't imagine he has been anything less than a dragon to you."

Unexpectedly, Hermione felt the urge to defend him, but repressed it, he had been a right dragon.

"He wasn't happy," she said mildly.

"Has he been behaving?"

"Mostly. Yes, he has," where did that come from? Although if she was honest with herself he had been quite decent up until tonight. Companionable even. "Tonight it's been the angrier I've seen him. It's the only time he has shouted at me so far... In private, that is," she smiled ruefully.

McGonagall seemed to examine her carefully, then started speaking slowly, as if... unsure?

"Severus has always had a nasty temper. Not that I can't blame him for it this time, mind you - Merlin knows he had good reason - Still..." she trailed off, then shook her head after a few seconds, apparently deciding to forego whatever she was going to say.

Silence settled again.

"I know how crude some rivalities between students are, but I would never have expected this of Harry. And that spell... What has this boy gotten into? Which reminds me..." she said, in a totally different voice, turning to stare severely at her. "What have _you_ been getting into?"

"Pardon-"

"Your little animagus research, young lady. Mme. Pince has told me the books you've been frequenting lately."

" _Oh, that._ It's nothing."

Professor McGonagall lifted her brow pointedly and Hermione reddened.

"Nothing," the Professor repeated.

"Well, I have read some more..." added Hemione, diffidently. "And I might have tried a couple of self-reflexion and _animagus sentire_ charms." McGonagall pursed her lips. "But no transformation attemps, of course." Hermione hurried to add.

"How many times? How often?"

"Once or twice a day, every day... mostly before going to bed."

The older woman surveyed her severely for a few long seconds.

"And?"

"Pardon me?" 

"If you have been practising that long I sincerely doubt you have obtained no result. What did it come out of it?"

"Oh," said Hermione, flushing. "Well, it's a mammal. Small. Alert. Has a tail, I think." said Hermione, shifting her legs unconsciously, then looked at McGonagall. "I'm hoping for a feline," she added in a small voice.

"Hmm... have you ever felt the need to stretch your spine?"

"Not that I remember... Not a feline then?" said Hermione.

"Unlikely, I would say, but not impossible. What about your ears..?"

Hermione blinked. "I don't think I've ever felt them... is it a rodent then? It wouldn't be so bad if it was a squirrel, but-"

"Why don't we see?" asked McGonagall, cutting into Hermione's ramblings. "Would you like to try?"

"What? Like now? I wouldn't know how..."

"You only need to concentrate as you do when you practise but this time probe further, immerse yourself, and when you start feeling the change, let it happen."

Hermione stared at her, shell-shocked, then a rush of adrenaline made her produce her wand without her noticing. She found herself asking "do I need it?"

"Probably, at least for the first times."

Hermione nodded, it made sense. She breathed deeply, trying to focus her thoughts over the blood pounding in her ears. She first felt for the magic, as she always did, then she started the process, searching for her animagus. There it was, the tingling around her nose and on her back, and the trickling on her skin as she felt the phantom feeling wind over her fur... And the excitement, smells. _What about the ears?_ She felt for them and found them, small, tiny. And the tail, the weird pressure on her back, and strong muscles she didn't know very well how to use.

She enjoyed the feeling for a few seconds, then remembered she wasn't in her bedroom, in her usual practise. _What did McGonagall say?_

_"Probe further, immerse yourself."_

_Okay._

She felt for the animal conscience, the entity, and found her somewhere in the back of her mind, pulsing, calling her. With a recklessness she didn't know she possessed, she dived in.

Suddenly her vision blurred and she felt streched and constricted at the same time, energy - _magic_ -rushing through her limbs. And then it was over.

Her stomach lurched and she felt forced to keep her eyes closer for a couple of seconds to control the empty feeling. She probably should have eaten a bit more at dinner... But Gods, she felt _hungry_.

A gust of wind caressed her face and she was distracted by the smell of the trees, stronger than before, along with the damp earth and... the lake?

"Take a few moments to settle in," said a strong voice that rang both familiar and foreign in her ears. "But I would appreciate some sort of sign that your human conscience has not been lost in the process."

When she opened her eyes, however, she didn't immediately recognise her surroundings - how has she gotten in the middle of the field? Then she identified the huge black rocks in front of her as boots - McGonagall's - and the proportions became evident.

So she was still in the courtyard. Still with McGonagall. Still Hermione. But what about her body?

She looked down and almost jumped at seeing her hands. Dark brown, blackish, with long sensitive fingers. She looked up to McGonagall in alarm, then back down.

"Miss Granger! Left paw up if you understand me."

Feeling awkward, she sat back and hesitantly held her left arm - paw - up.

"Thank Merlin. Here," said the older woman, and produced a round mirror that she propped on the floor in front of her.

Hermione found herself blinking at an... otter. Of course.

Although quite a nice one, she thought with satisfaction, observing her cute brownish nose and small sharp eyes. She tried to turn to admire her profile and stepped onto something that made her yelp and stumble as she felt a sharp pain in her...spine?

"It takes time to get used to the tail, but with practise you'll come to appreciate its usefulness," commented McGonagall, clearly amused at her clumsy attempts to move it. " But I think this has been enough for today." Hermione paused and looked up at the woman enquiringly. "Same process to change back."

Hermione gingerly sat, being careful to keep the tail out, and focused obediently. She felt the magic swirling through her limbs again and suddenly she wasn't able to smell the forbidden forest anymore.

"Not a cat then," said the older woman as Hermione took herself from the floor.

"I should have known..." she said, embarrased. To be honest, she had thought about it at first, but at some point she had forgotten altogether about the initial purpose and her _Patronus_ research.

"It might seem that your research does have some future, after all..." agreed McGonagall. "Congratulations on your first transformation, Miss Granger."

A rush of pride and excitement flowed through her body, settling a grin on her face.

"Thanks. I did it, didn't I? I did it!" she gushed,

"Yes, you did. Well done, child," confirmed McGonagall with an amused twist of her lips. "Now let's go have some rest... This little experiment won't be an excuse to miss any lessons tomorrow."

Hermione nodded and picked back her backpack, trying to contain her excitement - there was no way she could sleep now. Until suddenly and idea popped in her mind and she could feel the bubble of excitement burst.

"Ahem, Professor, shouldn't we..? I mean, isn't this..?"

"Unortodox? Illegal? Highly. But if it was going to happen, and if you had keep that meditation regime up, it would have, I definitely prefer it to be under my supervision," the woman stated. "In any case I will send an owl to the ministry tomorrow to ask for the registration papers. I will tell them I have a pupil interested - no need to mention any names - and I would like to check on the new procedures."

"Thank you, professor."

"Until the moment you are officially registered, however, I advice caution." Hermione started to nod, but was stopped by a hand grabbing her forearm tightly. She looked at McGonagall's expression, far graver than she had expected. "Not a word to anyone. And by anyone I mean _anyone_. I will only inform Dumbledore myself."

 "Of course," assured Hermione solemnly. "I promise."

McGonagall nodded and released her arm. They exited the courtyard in silence.

Hermione bid the professor "Goodnight" and they parted ways. Barely a few steps in the direction to her quarters she heard the unmistakeable squeak of metal and turned just in time to see McGonagall give a swift nod to another suit of armour a bit further up the corridor.

Then it dawned on her why the armours obeyed McGonagall. Not only was she the transfiguration teacher - probably she had a hand in keeping the armours up to shape - but she was the Deputy Headmistress, of course Hogwarts irself had to recognised that.

She shook her head, not quite believing all the events of the day, and walked back to the dungeons with a light skip in her step.

 

 


	19. Passing Messages

To Hermione's relief, Snape wasn't anywhere to be found when she arrived back to their quarters. She didn't saw him outside DADA lessons during the following days either and, if the notion hadn't sounded completely ridiculous, she would have thought he was avoiding her.

It wasn't until Saturday, as she sneaked inside her quarters quite a bit after curfew, that she was alone with him again.

Gryffindor, against all odds,  had won the Quidditch Cup - the party in Gryffindor Common room had been something else. And Harry - she smiled at remembering it - Harry had finally done something about Ginny. Something very grand and visible, as they were bound to do. She shook her head. No matter how annoying those two could be sometimes, she was very happy for them.

All the giddiness flew away, however, the moment she got into her quarters and realised that the armchair that had been empty lately - his - was occupied.

"About time, is it?" he asked rudely, however Hermione couldn't help but notice the tiredness permeating in his voice.

"Gryffindor won," she said unecessarily, and his sneer became more genuine.

" _Of course,_ " he said, infusing so much derision behind those words that Hermione felt instantly mortified. 

She shuffled her feet, unsure if she should go or if that would only make the situation worse. And suddenly she felt angry.

She was a prefect, allowed out after curfew, and she was in her rooms. Rooms in which he was no longer her teacher, but her husband. Her equal. He had no right of making her feel bad just because he was in a sour mood. She was having such a nice evening...

Without deigning to say another word, she turned on her heel and went to her room, closing the door with a bang.

The next day she was totally expecting him to be absent, as it had been his custom even before his avoidance of the last few days. However, most uncharacteristically, he was there again, sitting in his armchair, apparently doing nothing. _Was he waiting for her?_

Still annoyed, she decided to ignore him and went to the bathroom, through his room. She barely spared a glance to his bedroom, used to it as she was. Bare walls, huge four poster bed, big wardrobe, two chests that she suspected to be unused, since they were always unpracticable - he kept piles and piles of books over them - and the chest of drawers that she always felt the urge to investigate (but had refrained to, up until that moment).

She made her mourning routine - had a shower, tidied her hair, brushed her teeth - then stepped back out. He was still there, still in the same position, as far as she could see. And still without a book in sight.

"If you can spare a minute of your undoubtedly _precious_ leisure time, Miss Granger-"

"For being mocked or shouted at? Not really," she answered, directing her steps back towards her room.

"We need to speak," he said to her back, and it was something in his voice, more than the words themselves, what made her stop.

She turned, frowning.

"I need to know if your absence would be noticed this morning," he continued stiffly and clearly uncomfortable. She remained silent and he exhaled a long suffering sigh. "It has been decided that you should learn to send messages with your patronus - I assume you know how to produce one."

"I do. But why now?"  
  
"Corporeal?"

"An otter," she said impatiently. "But does it have to be now? What's the hurry?" she insisted, not really looking forward spending time with him and, if she was honest with herself, very much looking forward spending some girl time with Ginny.

"Do you have anything more pressing to do?"

She wanted to say "yes", but didn't dare, since she was pretty sure the 'it has been decided' involved Dumbledore, which, in turn, involved Harry. She wished the Headmaster would deign to discuss these decisions with her. Besides, why wouldn't he teach Harry directly?

However, she said nothing and took a step forward, placing her hands on the back of her armchair, facing him.

"How do I do that?"

"In a nutshell, you need to produce a patronus, then picture the words in your mind and direct your thoughts towards the person you wish to contact. If you hold your will long enough, you will feel when the message is delivered."

Hermione went over the words in her head and nodded. It made sense, why hadn't she tried before?

He turned her attention back to him and saw he was regarding her, clearly expecting her to produce her wand and try. However, the part of her still annoyed with his treatment reared back.

"I will practise - and I'll make sure Harry learns too," she conceded, bad-humouredly, heading back towards her bedroom. "Thanks for passing the message," she added by her door, giving him one last glance. However, the intense, clearly conflicted look she could glimpse in that moment unsettled her. She hesitated for an instant and it was gone.

"There's something else," he said, and his tone was so indifferent, even bored, that Hermione was sure she had imagined everything. He stood up and approached her.

Hermione barely just refrained from going to her wand. However, unlike last time, he stopped at a reasonable distance from her. With a guarded look he offered her a crumpled piece of paper she hadn't noticed before. Hermione picked it, and read:

_87, Spinner's End - Manchester_

She looked up, puzzled, and he took the parchment back from her swiftly.

"What-?"

"Will you remember it?" he cut, but without any heat.

Hermione tried to picture the message and the words came back to her, loud and clear.

"Yes, but what-"

"Think of it as a last resort," he said, making the paper disappear somewhere inside his robes. At her look, he elaborated, although he seemed to choose the words very carefully. "If at some point the... _situation_ gets so dangerous, so... _dire_ , that you have no other place to go - none at all - remember it," he said, and Hermione saw again, for an instant, that intense, conflicted look she thought she had imagined. "Otherwise forget you ever saw that paper."

 She held his gaze for an instant before he turned away. She had the urge to ask if this had also "been decided" by Dumbledore, but some instinct made her hold back.

 "Why now?" she asked instead. It was the third time she asked the same questions, but this was the first one that she acutely felt the answer was important. "Has something happened?  Are my parents alright?" she asked, her voice becoming high-pitched.

"Calm down," he ordered. "Nothing extraordinary has happened, but dire situations don't announce themselves beforehand... generally," he added, and before he turned completely Hermione was able to see his face twisted in a most uncharacteristic way. 

 


	20. Turning Point

The next day she couldn't shake the sense of unease and found herself going back to the works in the piece of parchment over and over, to check that she remembered. However, it was obvious to her that she was missing something.

After the third time she wrote a meaningless sentence in her Charms essay about the differences between vanishing and disappearing, she gave up. It was clear it bothered her enough to keep her from studying.

She dropped her quill and pressed her fingers against her eyes to order her thoughts.

It was evident something was going on in the castle and with Snape. If Draco had the Dark Mark and was carrying out a mission from the Dark Lord, then it would make sense Snape had also been involved. That would explain the scene Harry 'witnessed' during Slughorn's party at Christmas - although she didn't discard the idea the obviously spiked punch might have blurred his impressions... 

But there was a big caveat. Why would You-Know-How choose Malfoy to do anything by himself, having a most capable, loyal Death Eater around to help? Unless the Dark Lord no longer trusted Snape... But how did Snape know of the plan then? Had he discovered it somehow even behind Draco's occlumency? Could Draco be stupid enough to be hiding information from Snape against the Dark Lord wishes?

No matter how she looked at it, it made no sense.

She went back to the (apparent) facts:

_Someone was intent in killing some other someone, and had no qualms in leaving a few corpses in their way. Probaly You-Know-Who ( but how? through whom?)_

_Draco was plotting something - Snape was trying to get the details out of him._

_Dumbledore was pressing Snape about doing something - info from You-Know-Who? maybe info from Malfoy? - that Snape thought was asking too much._

_Dumbledore was also absent most of the time - in which Hermione now reckoned was a Horrcrux hunt._

_Dumbledore held Snape responsible of the school safety in his absence._

_Snape was spread too thin._

So again, what was he doing? What had You-Know-Who asked him to do? Hermione had to admit she hadn't given it much thought except for the marriage business. She had even stopped noticing when he left and came back in the weekends. But then again, _she_ was having such an irregular schedule lately...

Proof that they were all busier that they've ever been with their studies was that her friends were treating her as if she had simply moved to another room and even seemed startled when they were reminded, from time to time. that she was living in the dungeons. And actually, she could have the key to solve Malfoy's mystery and Snape's involvement, because: who was in a better position than herself to track Snape's movements? And who lived very close to the dungeons and could monitor when Malfoy went in and out?

She could do it. Malfoy was easy - tracking charm in the corridor - only she would have to check how to customize them to detect a particular person. As for Snape, she would finally start paying attention to his schedule, and to what he did in their quarters - enough pussy-footing around him.

Crookshanks butted his head against her thigh and she remembered her homework. Having worked through the problem this time she was able to go through her Charms essay without trouble.

Barely a few weeks later, she would go back to this moment and would berate herself for not being smarter, more persistent, more discerning... or simply, more empathetic.

 

\---------------------------------

 

It had passed in a blur.

She was sitting in the infirmary, numbly trying to make sense of the events of that evening: Harry's warning and the Felix Felicis, her walks around the dungeons with Luna, Snape hurrying out of the room leaving Flitwick behind... how hadn't she found strange that a master duelist would faint when in danger?

Then the loud noises, clanking armours, shouts and explosions, and the frantic fight for her - and her friends' - lives the moment they entered the corridor. Then it ended, and she had hurried to help Ginny get Bill to the Hospital Wing. Eventually Harry came back, bloody and sweaty and made his announcement: Dumbledore was dead, and it was Snape who did it.

She had crumbled down and made herself small - not that anybody was noticing her much, really. Maybe they didn't even remember. They had all acted so normal these last months. Hell, she had felt so _'normal_ ', so at ease, these last months.

She couldn’t believe that the man she had been living with was a traitor and a murderer. _Most murdered had families who thought the best of them_ , she thought inconsequentially. Although he wasn't her family, not really.

 _Actually yes, really._ There were a couple of elaborate parchments somewhere deep in the ministry attesting to exactly that.

But that was of no consequence, she knew she wasn't feeling this anxiety due to her role as his wife. She wasn't his real wife. She certainly didn't have feelings for him - hell, she wasn't even sure she liked him!

But as she saw the defeated faces around her, that had instantly accepted Harry's words, she realised that for her it wasn't as easy to accept as it seemed to be for all the others. It didn't fit.

Before she was aware of it, she was out of the infirmary and hurrying towards the dungeons. If there was another answer, it had to be there. People always were predisposed to think the worst of him, but she simply refused to be another one.

She entered her rooms, as if expecting to find the explanation sitting on her favourite armchair. She surveyed the familiar room as if it was the first time and even in her turbulent state she couldn't find anything amiss. It was still so familiar...

She charged into his room. Still as bare as she had ever found it except for the books, that were still there - _he wouldn't leave them there voluntarily..._ She took them and scanned the titles frantically, discarding them on the bed - potions journals, defence essays, muggle novels... it was as random a selection as the one in his living room, but there was nothing that provoked any further revelations. _There has to be an explanation_ , she whispered again and again, desperately.

Then her eyes fell on the cabinet full of drawers, as she was touching the handle of the first drawer she saw a torn piece of parchment on the floor and the words that had been haunting her a few weeks back came to her head in full force.

_87 Spinner's End, Manchester._

And suddenly she knew, without a shadow of doubt, that that wasn't Dumbledore's hideout. It was _his_.

 

She apparated in front of an undescriptive door, in a row of abandoned-looking houses. However, she didn't doubt for a moment that she was in the right place, as she clearly felt the wards detect her and let her in.

She opened the door without knocking and what she found left her speechless.

There was her husband, still in his teaching robes – although they had been singed or burned, Hermione didn’t know – his wand on his hand raging at the room at large. Books were flying in every direction, one chair was upturned, and there were traces of pottery smashed against the floor. She watched open mouthed as he slashed his wand violently towards the armchair, slicing the seat open while swearing as a sailor.

“...you had to get away with it, as you always did! You bloody conceited bastard! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW!? IS IT FINALLY ENOUGH??”

At witnessing this desperate rage, the realisation came crashing in.

_He did it._

She whimpered, overwhelmed, and he turned swiftly at the sound.

They stared at each other for what felt like hours; she, terrified and pressed against the wall by the door; he, breathing heavily in the middle of the room, probably assessing if she was alone and if she was a menace.

“Leave. Now,” he uttered roughly.

“But Professor...”

“NOW!” He roared approaching her, wand drawn.

She didn’t need to be told again. She fled.

She ran for her life up the street, not daring to apparate in her state and not stopping until she turned the next corner and collapsed against a brick wall to take her breath.

 _It can’t be_ , she thought frenetically. _Dumbledore trusted him._ Hell, he had married her to him to protect them both. Gods, she was bonded to a murderer.

She couldn’t match the grumpy and careful man he had been with her during these months with a traitor. Suddenly, in between the whirlwind of thoughts, some of the swearings she had heard him shout at the house came back to her. ' _Hope you knew what you were doing...You didn’t have enough with my life, you had to use my soul too.'_

"My soul", she mouthed. Why would a death eater be concerned about his soul? Besides, why was he so distressed? If he was a true death eater, he should have been extatic to finally ged rid of Dumbledore. Was he struggling with guilt? Was he repentant? She suprised herself realising she wanted him to be.

She remembered then their ceremony and the vows they swore. He swore a vow of protection. _Of protection.._.

She didn’t know if it was her adrenaline still flowing through her veins or just plain Gryffindor recklessness, but she decidedly stood up and made her way back towards the house.

She would take the chance, and she prayed that the vow would keep her safe if she was mistaken.

 

This time she drew her wand before opening the door. The room was still a mess, but the innocupant had stopped his pacing. He was curled against the wall with his head in his hands and emitting strangled sounds.

She approached him cautiously, not sure if he frightened her less in this state than in the previous one. She kneeled by his side.

“Professor...”

His head snapped up sharply and she could read fear and embarrassment in his face before he let it drop back to his knees.

“I told you to leave. You want me to kill you too?” He asked with difficulty.

 _Want him to kill her too?_ she wondered. She put her hand on his arm tentatively.

“Professor... Severus...Talk to me. What–? ”

Her question was cut when he turned and held onto her as a drowning man. She froze, not sure what to say or do, but then he started taking shuddering breaths and she automatically held him back. He had been in shock.

When the shuddering breaths stopped, he still held onto her for a few seconds, while his breathing evened. When he finally pulled back he averted his face in embarrasment, but not before she could see the dry tear tracks on his red cheeks. He looked awful.

She remained silent and sat against the wall by his side, thinking what to do next. She had been immensely unsettled at first, but she reckoned that now she was the only person he had. Although the doubt hadn’t quite gone from her head – he might still be a remorseful but loyal death eater – she was quite certain she was safe with him, and decided to keep her judgement until he spoke.

“I apologise for... this,” he said at last, without looking at her.

She only nodded in return and waited for him to say something else, not sure where to begin.

“You reckon that coming here was a stupidly dangerous thing to do, don’t you?” said Snape quietly, his voice raspy.

“Yes.” Another pause.

“Now, Granger, what do you want from me?” He eventually asked, his tone guarded.

“What happened back there?”

“I killed Albus Dumbledore,” he intoned, lifelessly.

Hermione fought not to react to that, she already knew he had done it, but to hear him confess it so plainly affected her more than she expected. She had to take a deep breath to ask her next question.

“Why?”

“Because he asked me to. And to fulfil an vow.”

“Why would he ask you to kill him?” She pronounced calmly, trying not to sound accusing.

He took a deep breath.

“Believe it or not, because he was already dying and wanted me to benefit from his death. Also, he wanted to protect Malfoy’s soul.” He nearly spat the last two words, and Hermione started to understand his previous tirade. She fought not to ask the obvious question ‘what about yours?’, deciding to enquire after the Headmaster’s health instead.

“Last summer he had been mucking about the Dark Lord's old possessions - 'gathering information' he called it. One of them backfired. You might have noticed his withered hand,” he told her diffidently. Hermione had the sudden impression of being speaking with a reluctant teenager.

“I thought it was only the hand.”

“It was. It started there, but has been spreading ever since. It’s – it had gone past his elbow, almost to the shoulder.” He shifted a bit, beginning to feel uncomfortable in the floor. “It was a matter of time that it reached his heart. A few months, probably. A year at most.”

She closed her eyes and let the wall support her head. It sounded plausible, and she could always check when she got back. But for now, did she believe him?

One of their first conversations came back to her. He had told her that she would protect her unless it interfered with ‘what was necessary’, and that she was a fool for trusting him. It didn’t reassure her, just as it hadn’t reassured her back then. _But why bother?_ She thought. It would have been easier for him to say nothing, or even to lie.

But he was a Slytherin, cunning and deceitful, and a spy. He would be good at manipulating people... _No_ , she corrected herself, having a sudden insight. Manipulators were charismatic people. Sociable, with many friends. Voldemort had been one, before showing his true colours and in fact - now that she thought of it - even Dumbledore filled the role much better.

Snape might be good at hiding information, for sure, might even be a masterful liar, but manipulative? _He wouldn’t know were to start_ , she surprised herself thinking. Besides, he didn’t know she would come back. His suffering is not feigned. _Still..._

The thoughts kept circling each other in her head, until a movement on her right stopped them. She realised that he must have been fidgeting for a while. He was clearly uncomfortable, but had tried not to move. _Is he afraid?  
_

She concluded that all her reasoning depended on if she trusted him or not.

She stood and observed him consideringly from above. He had regained his bearings, and other than a slight tinge of red in his eyes his face was as hard and inscrutable as it had ever been.

Their eyes locked and she realised that he was awaiting judgement.

Eventually she extended her hand towards him deciding that, god help her, she believed him.

The bewildered look that flashed through his face at her gesture, reaffirmed Hermione in her decision. He schooled back his features, and accepted her hand to stand up with a solemn air. She felt as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

“Do you have tea or something?”

He guided her to the kitchen and started pottering while she took a seat in the dingy table, still shaking slightly at the release of tension. She pondered about everything he had revealed.

“ What about the vow you mencioned?”

“It was an unbreakable vow. I made it to Narcissa last summer.”

Hermione mulled the name in her head, as the sink spouted some water with a pitiful creak.

“Draco’s mother?”

“Yes. I vowed to protect his son and to aid him in the mission the Dark Lord had bestowed upon him.”

Hermione felt terrible. Harry had been right all the time.

“And that mission was...?”

“To kill the Headmaster, obviously,” he stated, recovering some of his usual demeanor. “And apparently to find a way to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No," answered Snape quietly, looking remorseful. "He didn’t want me to know what it was about. Her aunt taught him occlumency, so I couldn’t see anything without forcing him. And of course the Headmaster wouldn’t do it or let me do it,” he explained bitterly while depositing a mug before her and taking a seat with another one. “Merlin help him to not incomodate poor dear Draco...”

He stopped in mid-motion and stared at her directly with a frown, as if it was the first time he saw her.

“Won’t you be missed? And you might be even suspected, having been living with me. You should go.”

She shook her head.

“It has been nearly an hour. And they saw me run away. I’ll need a good excuse anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it's for one or two hours. Won’t _you_ be missed?” She asked, looking pointedly to his left forearm.

He shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

“No. I already went to him before coming here.”

He took a seat in front of her and they both sipped their tea in silence. Earl Grey, no sugar. _It suits him_ , Hermione thought inconsequently.

“May I ask what benefits did the Headmaster expect you to get out of this?”

He lifted his eyebrow amusingly.

“Now you ask me permission to ask questions?”

She reddened slightly and shrugged. Wondering if this was the only time she had come to talk to the real Severus Snape.

“Probably I shouldn’t tell you this, but as it’s quite evident anyway... the Dark Lord is planning to take over the Ministry. Soon. The board of Governors, appointed by the Ministry, decides about the regulations of Hogwarts and names the Headmasters-”

“He wanted you to take his position?” She interrumpted.

At her incredulous tone he turned defensive.

“He wanted me to protect the students.”

“Oh, right.” She mumbled apologetically, thinking quickly. “What will happen when the Ministry falls?”

“Who knows? Muggleborns will be persecuted, for sure.” He threw a glance her way. “Expelled from our society or otherwise controlled. They will also eliminate all kind of opposition, or suspects of having been associated with the Order. For this they will take hostages - families...”

She jumped from the chair clearly alarmed.

"My parents..." she whispered horrified and started to pace. She had been thinking for a while to take them away from Britain. She had even done some research about changing identities or even modifying memories, but she wasn’t prepared to act so soon. She looked at the man still sitting defeteadly at the table and started. "Will you help me?"

He stared back at her blankly.

"How? Right now I’m a wanted criminal. On what exactly do you think I could possibly help you like this?"

"You are right, I will have to tell the Order first," she muttered, still thinking frenetically.

"Tell them what, exactly?" He asked sharply, cutting her train of thought.

"That you are with us, of course."

"You will do no such a thing," he stated, regaining some of the authoritative presence Hermione was used to see.

"What do you mean?" she asked, facing him with her hands on her hips. "How long do you intend to remain a traitor for them? The Order needs you. Besides, if they don't know you are on our side, they will attack you on sight. You will be in danger even when you take your position as Headmaster. Unless you plan to sack all the teachers..." She rambled. He was shaking his head slowly.

"You can't tell anyone. They won't believe you, not at this time, and you must not try. You'd only get them to distrust you too."

Hermione bit her lip.

"But there must be a way to prove it..."

"There isn't, girl. Not this time," he repeated quietly, looking into his mug.

Hermione bit her lip, unsure. If Snape lost contact with the order, they would lose all visibility into Voldemort's field. Unless...

"Is there anyone else? Another spy?"

He looked back at her, his face inscrutable.

"What for? The Dark Lord's actions are going to become visible enough..."

Understanding passed through them.

"This was part of the plan all along, wasn't it?" She said, dropping heavily on the other chair. She didn't wait for an answer. "How much time do I have? For my parents."

"Before the Ministry falls? I don't know exactly, but not much. What did you have in mind? I can't make any promises but perhaps I'll be able to help."

During the following half an hour she explained the situation, her plans and her research. The night had come upon them.

“... and you excel at occlumency and legilimency, you must be good with memory charms,” Hermione ended, hopefully, although his face had been darkening during her explanation.

“I am," he conceeded. "but you don’t know what you are asking for. If I lock all their memories of you, they might never get them back... One can never be sure of the reversal of memory charms.”

Hermione felt very tired all of a sudden. She would have even said she felt old for the first time. She knew it was a turning point, and tried to bring all the facts to the front of her mind despite her throbbing temples. She had thought about this before, always reaching the same conclusion, but this time was different. This time she had to make a choice. She kept silence for a few minutes, but when she talked, she did it fiercely.

"I’d rather have them alive and happy without a daughter than dead with one. Will you do it?"

He scrutinised her for a few long seconds, then nodded gravely.

"When?"

"Now. Tonight. Since I can't tell anyone about this either," she said, motioning between the two of them, " It will give me an excuse for my absence too."

He looked startled for a moment, then slowly nodded again and stood.

“I will go change,” he said.

She noticed for the first time that her own robes were torn, and that his were not only torn, but stained with blood.

“Are you hurt?”

“Only a scratch. It’s nothing,” he answered, waving her off. However, now that she was looking, she realised there was quite a bit of blood and that the robes seemed to be sticking weirdly to his shoulder.

“Would you like me to heal it?" she asked, refraining to reach for him without permission. "One can’t use healing spells on oneself.”

He hesitated, then extracted a flannel and a plastic jar from one of the cupboards and motioned her to follow him to the bathroom. It was a small room, as neglected as the rest of the house, with only a sink with a stained mirror, a toilet and a stool by a yellowed bathtub. In there Snape took out his robes and his shirt unceremoniously, cursing loudly when they tore open the wound again.

Hermione tsked at his carelessness.

"You're supposed to cut the fabric, when it's stuck."

"Very helpful now," he muttered, trying to see the wound in the filthy mirror and wincing when he tried to turn his torso.

"Stop moving," ordered Hermione, intently focusing in what she remembered of her healing research. _Cleaning, Examining, Disinfecting, Fixing, Knitting_. She grasped his upper arms from behind and directed him to sit on the dingy stool. Then she made a bunch of the torn shirt and placed it on his lower back. "Tergeo" she said, siphoning the dry blood downwards to be able to see the wound properly. It was a long, thin but deep slice starting on his shoulder and running down his upper back. There was another, shallower one, parallel to the first and a slight bruise on the left. He seemed to decide she had stared long enough and offered her the jar of disinfectant.

"Wait, I'll need to clean it first. This isn't the Sectumsempra, isn't it?" said Hermione, knowing that spell wounds usually weren't that dirty and didn't need disinfectant.

"No. Hippogryph claws. Ask your friend Potter," he spated. Hermione ignored the quip and started cleaning the wounds of dirt gingerly. "Did you know I invented that spell?"

Hermione's hand faltered as everything finally fell into place with a click. Of course, brilliant at Potions and fascinated by the Dark Arts. Snape couldn't be a muggleborn, being a Death-Eater, nor a pureblood, living here. The Half-Blood Prince.

She felt like smacking herself, remembering their fight after the Sectumsempra incident, he had told her he had seen the book before, seen it enough to remember an annotation at the margins. And now that she thought about it, it wasn't the only thing he had revealed that night. "Your friend Potter nearly killed two people today." She felt so stupid...

Hermione realised he was waiting for her answer.

"No, I didn't," she eventually answered, returning to her task. "I didn't know, either, that you liked to be called 'Prince'," she said, glancing briefly at his reflection in the mirror and meeting his piercing black eyes.

"'Prince was my mother's surname," he said eventually, enunciating slowly, as if daring her to mock him. "She was a pureblood witch. Being in Slytherin House, it was a decidedly better choice than my father's." He seemed about to add something, but thought better of it.

Hermione didn't notice, thinking about that girl she found on the annuary. Eileen Prince. His mother, probably. She motioned for the jar, and applied the salve in silence.

"Will it be enough with a 'Regenerum Carem'?" she asked examining her work critically.

"Probably. Try it." he said, shrugging, then wincing.

She held her wand over the wound and focused. A faint glow came from her wand and under it, the flesh started to reknit. Five minutes later the wounds had become only angry pink lines.

"That's it. Do you have any dittany?" Said Hermione, probing carefully the skin with her fingers.

"No. It doesn't matter," he said, standing and looking self-conscious for the first time at being shirtless with her in such a secluded space. "I'll go change clothes. Come to the living room when you are ready."

Hermione nodded and picked up the flannels absentmindedly, still trying to process all the information. Just the thought that she had had at her mercy the wanted man that all the people she knew believed to be a traitor and a cold blooded murderer made her head spin.

However, it was the most human and approachable she had ever seen him. Hermione was certain that he had been more unguarded with her in the last hour than in the last 5 months. She had seen his emotions playing in his face nearly constantly, and his reactions to her questions, something that rarely happened. Gods! She had seen him cry! _And shirtless_ , added a small voice in her head.

Hermione shook her head. Now was not the time, she thought pragmatically. She washed her face and hands, thinking about the more pressing matters.

And ten minutes later, they were knocking on her parents door.


	21. The Last Visitors of the Grangers

She had lived stressful moments during the last year, but she was sure none of them even came close to the moment she pointed her wand against her sleeping parents.

They had waited, disillusioned, outside her house until all the lights were off and loud snores could be heard coming from the balcony on the first floor. At that moment, they had sneaked into the master bedroom and had stupefied them. Hermione had had to struggle to make out her parents forms through the tears clouding her vision and running down her cheeks.

Then she had crumbled on the floor against the bed, trying to pull herself back together. She knew some meaningful amount of time had to have passed, since she had been vaguely aware of Snape closing the shutters and exploring the house, then coming back and perching on the chest at the foot of the bed. However, that had been a while ago.

Hermione forced herself to look up to him.

"You can still change your mind. There are other ways..."

"Can you truly think of any other way that's safer than this one?" Asked Hermione, her voice trembling, her eyes red and puffy. He held her gaze for a few seconds.

"No."

Hermione nodded.

"Then do it. Please."

After that all passed in a blur for her.

He brought her mother's computer and wallet to the bedroom and plugged it there; she didn't want to leave them alone during the process. Not that there was anything she could do. She observed Snape deftly mixing two vials into a third one, then dosing her parents with it. Then he sat on the side of the bed by her father's side, and leaned towards him as if to kiss him, their faces less than 20 cm apart. Suddenly their father's eyes opened and Hermione had to look away.

With her mother credit card, she bought two plane tickets for the next day, and browsed several house rental websites, eventually renting a small flat in Melbourne for the first month. She typed letters to all their close family members and Claire, their receptionist, and also browsed through her parents' email to write to to all the seemingly close friends. By the time she had finished, Snape had changed sides in the bed and was in the same awkward position with her mother.

She approached the bed carefully, to avoid disturbing Snape, and sat by her father's side. She placed her hand carefully over his, knowing he wouldn't wake up - Snape had dosed him with a powerful sleeping potion mixed with a headache one. Her eyes traced avidly his peaceful face, trying to memorise even the faintest wrinkle. _Just in case you'll have to remember for the both of you_ , piped a nasty voice inside her head that made her choke.

She glanced towards Snape. He had explained the process to her before: he was going to cast the variant of obliviate she had found and keep it active while he brought all their memories of her to the front, then he would end the spell and key it to the sentence they had agreed on: "My patronus is an Otter". She knew she should be eternally grateful towards him - she knew it was unlikely she would have been able to make it on her own; she was no legerements - but found at that very moment she was unable to muster the feelings.

She went through their wardrobes picking what to pack. In the end she decided to enlarge magically their suitcases, adding a weightless and confundus charm - so they wouldn't notice anything amiss - and packed most of their clothes and shoes.

Then she conjured three boxes of different colours and started classifying their belongings in three categories: to send to Australia, 'for sale' and 'hers'.

The kitchen was easy work; she planned to rent the house eventually, so it was just as well that it was kept furnished. When she had finished piling the albums and decided started sorting the books the living room instead Snape came downstairs. It was apparent he had been through an ordeal; he was sickly pale, with deep shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders, usually ramrod straight, were sagging.

"It is done," he said simply.

Hermione nodded, but couldn't say anything. He noticed pile of albums beside the coffee table and the photographs lining the walls, and decided to make himself useful.

"Let me do that, you go through the books."

They worked in silence, room by room, and finished at dawn, just in time to disillusion themselves and watch the excited Monica and Wendell Wilkins go through the door with their luggage to pick a taxi to the airport.

Hermione watched the taxi disappear, despondent, thinking that that may be the last time she ever set eyes on them.

The tall man beside her put a hand on her shoulder, and she found herself unable to keep herself from turning to him for comfort. After a moment of hesitance, she felt his arms wrapping around her back gently, and she started crying, her body wrecked with shuddering breaths. She didn't know how long it had taken her to pull herself together, but she was grateful he had held her stoically until she did. It was more than she would have expected.

"You did the right thing," he rumbled.

She nodded, and stepped back, drying her tears. When she looked at him, she was struck at how awful he looked. Remembering what he had done for her just after his very own tragedy made all the gratefulness she was lacking before come rushing. He truly was an extraordinary man. It wasn't fair. She didn't know what he had done before, but she was convinced he didn't deserve this.

"Thank you, professor. This means more to me than I can say," she said solemnly, when she trusted her voice not to tremble.

He only shrugged, clearly exhausted, but picked on her formal tone and straightened, clearing his throat. And, just like that, they were back to their traditional roles. 

"We should part now, Miss Granger. Your friends must be mad with worry."

"What will you do?"

"Stay at my house – it's secret kept – or perhaps with the Dark Lord if he requires my presence." He shrugged again, then observed her, gravely. "Listen, Miss Granger, when the Ministry falls you must hide. So must Potter. He cannot come back to Hogwarts." He paused. "When – if – I am finally appointed Headmaster, you – and only you – can come to me. However, even if I _can't_ hurt you on the Dark Lord orders and will protect you to the best of my capabilities, I'm not infallible, and you will be a target. Also, if you come back, associating with me, the Order will mistrust you, for you will have to pretend to have changed sides. Still, it might be safer for you than most places... Your choice."

He looked at her searchingly before continuing.

"The - late - Headmaster" he said with a grimace "told me that he had entrusted Potter with a mission he must carry out _at all costs_. A mission you were aware of, hence your use of the pensieve in our lessons. However, I don't know if he expected you to accompany him or not, so that is going to be a decision you will have to make."

Hermione nodded, gravely. Then a thought occurred to her.

"Do you need me to get something for you from your quarters at Hogwarts? I mean, if there's something you don't want anyone to find before they go through your things... you know."

"I don't think so... although many of my books are there." She fought not to smile at the confirmation. He looked at her and seemed to hesitate.

"Just tell me, I don't think we will get another chance to do it."

"Very well. If they haven't forced their way into our quarters when you get back, I would appreciate it if you sealed them, so that only you and me are allowed in. McGonagall, as Headmistress, may eventually discover how she can end the seal, but still..."

"I understand. How do I do it?"

He explained the process in the barely ten minutes that it took to seal their house. Then he went back to practicalities.

"I won't try to contact you unless absolutely necessary, and in that case, it will be through my patronus. I expect you to do the same, but only in extremely dire circumstances. Do you know how to do that?”

She nodded, then her face lighted up.

"I have another way. A safer one. Last year  I made some coins with the protean charm. When one receives a message, the coin grows hot and vibrates, and when the person touches the coin with the wand, the message shows on it. To send a message you only have to think of the receiver – if his coin is linked, that it – and speak softly the words while tapping the coin.”

"I will make something else for you and leave it inside my wardrobe at our quarters, so you can pick it up when you next go there. I'll n eed to know that it is you, so the first thing you must send me must be...Hmm... I got it, 'mercury'.  The password you had for my bedroom,” she explained, almost triumphantly , then smiled ruefully at the glint in his eyes.

"Impressive, Granger, I'll do that."

"Call me Hermione," she asked in a hunch. She didn't know why that seemed important at that moment, but it did."

"And you, me, Severus," he conceeded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's been a while - Nanowrimo, you know...


	22. Back into the Fold

Hermione apparated back to Hogwarts' gates wishing she had stayed home a bit longer and caught up some sleep. She produced her patronus and hesitated. Her first instinct had been sending it to Hagrid, but the remains of his hut were still smoking. Harry would probably still be crushed, and irrational. The Weasleys had enough in their plate with Bill's injuries...

Yes, let's get it over asap.

_Look for McGonagall, little otter._

Barely ten minutes later McGonagall was in the gates, surveying her with gravity.

"What significant bit of magic did you learn this year?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, thinking she had learn a great many things, but she realised quickly what McGonagall was talking about.

"I became an animagus. It's an Otter, like my Patronus."

The older woman nodded, but did not sheathe her wand.

"As relieved as I am to see you alive and well, you must understand your... status has been compromised."

"I understand."

"Will you agree to come with me and allow me to question you under veritaserum?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I would like to explain my situation first and afterwards, if you still consider it necessary, I will drink the veritaserum."

Hermione had seen the professor's wand hand tensing and was relieved when she allowed her to finish. She hoped if it came to it the vow would protect her secrets as she certainly would think talking about Snape as a betrayal, but she would like to avoid veritaserum, if possible.

"Will you render your wand?"

Hermione nodded, turning the wand in her hands and offering the hilt to McGonagall. The older woman took it with a relieved look and opened the door.

They started walking back to the castle.

"How's Harry?" asked Hermione after a while.

"As affected as one would expect, but enduring, I'd say."

"And Bill?"

Hermione saw McGonagall press her lips together before answering.

"He's had a rough night, Werewolf injuries have to heal on their own. The flesh hasn't started to knit until dawn, which suggests there will be, in fact, some werewolf influence on him."

Hermione nodded.

In the stark morning light coming from the windows the remains of the fight were almost invisible. She had the impression of it having being much more impressive. Maybe they had somebody fix it during the night.

Her thoughts stopped wandering when they stopped at the Gargoyle.

"Mint Pops"

Once upstairs McGonagall bode her to sit on one of the chairs. McGonagall summoned her patronus and sent it away without an explanation, then surveyed Hermione over her glasses.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No, professor."

McGonagall tsked and summoned a house elf to ask for tea, toast and muffins.

Hermione took the tea cup grateful for the respite. Eventually, however, the staircase started to move again and Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody entered through the door.

"What is this?" asked Alastor, surveying her with the blue eye while addressing McGonagall. Lupin sent her an uncertain smile.

"That's what I'm trying to ascertain. Please take a seat," she said to the two men before turning to her. "And now, Hermione, could you please explain where have you been all night?"

Hermione took a deep breath and told them how she had been thinking ways to keep her parents safe, how she had researched, practised and developed a plan. Then she told them how she went to them, locked their memories, made preparations - it took a while to explain them how internet worked - packed the house, and waited for them to leave before securing the house. Her voice caught at places, but she was able to tell the story without interrumptions.

To prove what she said she produced the box with her things and offered to take them to their place.

Alastor snorted.

"I had a shock with Snape's implication - I think we all had," said Hermione defensively. "My first thought was to my parents - they're muggleborn, you know - and I know Snape knew. I told him myself. So I went home and sent them to a safe place."

McGonagall and Lupin seemed far more relaxed. Alastor seemed as suspicious as ever.

"That is understandable, although reckless in the extreme. However, I don't understand why you didn't tell us this under veritaserum."

"There are two main reasons. The first one, is that I wouldn't want to involuntarily disclose my parent's new identity or location, or any other data that could lead you or anyone else to them. Now that you know what to avoid, I wouldn't have any issues with taking veritaserum... if it wasn't for the fact that I am bonded to Snape-" she said, but was cut by Moody.

"Of course..."

Hermione sent a glare his way.

"I am bonded to Snape by a vow of loyalty and, no matter how repulsive I could find it now, I wouldn't want to test it carelessly." she finished, fixing her eyes on McGonagall, that looked stricken for a moment. She had forgotten about it, Hermione realised. It hurt a bit, although she couldn't blame her, with everything that was going on.

"What were you thinking?" Exhaled Lupin and only then she realised he was also looking stricken, but his attention was focused on McGonagall.

"It was sound at the moment... you know as well as any how much Dumbledore relied on him, swore time and time again how he was to be trusted... This way both of them were protected..."

"How would binding Hermione to a spy be in any way be beneficial to her?" retorted Lupin, pointing at her and looking furious.

"That will be enough, Remus. He swore a vow too, a vow of protection."

Moody snorted again.

"And I have had enough of your snorting too, Alastor. Could you please give speech form to your snorts so we can understand you?"

"So the fact that Dumbledore made him swear a vow of protection didn't made anyone suspicious?" he rasped with a sarcastic half smile. "Let me spell it out for you: Dumbledore didn't fully trust him either, but hoped he could and lied to us so we did the same. That was Albus, wise beyond words, but far too trusting by far... I am glad that some part of his conscience still held the small doubt that made him ask the vow from him to keep you protected."

"But how would that affect him? - or us? - Is Snape going to feel forced to protect her? Would he even be able to harm her?" asked Lupin, with a frown

"We don't know for sure..." started McGonagall.

"And I, for once, am not willing to test it," retorted Hermione. She had kept quiet, relieved that they seemed to buy the story, but she was already annoyed they were ignoring her so blatantly.

"Of course," quickly agreed Lupin "but I still think it is something we should take into account."

Alastor nodded slowly.

"The Order should know," he declared from his stand against the library, then pointed to Hermione. "And she should still take veritaserum." Hermione fought not to react other than look to McGonagall. "We do need confirmation, and without a legeremens we just don't have any other way to know."

McGonagall fixed her with one of her stares, then nodded once.

"You said you would agreed to it. In return, I promise you I will make very general questions."

Hermione took a few seconds longer than Alastor and Lupin seemed to think appropriate before agreeing, judging by the discrete relocation of their wand arms. She pretended not to notice.

"Do you have it in hand or do you need me to fetch it myself?" she answered trying to sound earnest.

McGonagall produced a bottle from a cabinet on the right and offered it to Hermione.

Hermione poured three drops on her tea cup very visibly, then drank deeply. She closed her eyes as she felt warmth climbing from her tongue and up to her brain. After the stress and the exhaustion, the warm, foggy feeling in her brain was more than welcome. She basked in the sensation until the question came.

"What is your name?" she heard as if far away, then felt the question resonate in her head and the answer surged from within almost as a reflection of the question.

"Hermione Jean Granger"

"Did you, in any way, conspire or take action to bring down the Order of the Phoenix?"

"No."

"Did you, in any way, conspire to harm Harry Potter or hinder him in his mission?"

"No."

 "Where did you spend the night?"

"Alastor!" exclaimed McGonagall.

 _At Snape's and at home_ , she wanted to say but a small part of her mind, still fully awake, objected. _Not Snape's - that was evening,_ she thought, and the pressure seemed to disappear. Where she actually spent the night was...

"At home."

But she either had taken too long to answer or her struggle was visible, since Alastor was looking like a bloodhound that just sniffed a prey.

"Do you know where Snape is?"

"Alastor, enough!" said McGonagall firmly, standing and producing her wand, but the question was posed. The first answer that went through her foggy mind was 'P _robably at his home, but... no'_ Hermione blinked at him a couple of times while the force of the veritaserum and her own will fought inside her brain. ' _No,'_ she fought to say, desperately. No, no, no, no...

"No."

And the word came out as she thought it, because no matter where she had seen him last, she couldn't really, honestly, be certain of where he was at that very moment of time.

"Well, I do hope everyone's fears have been allayed now," said McGonagall, throwing a pointed glare towards a clearly disappointed Moody, that "Hmfped" annoyed. "Hermione, would you like me to put a sleeping spell on you for a couple of hours, until it passes, or would you prefer to stay awake? It will last for another 20 minutes or so."

"I would prefer to sleep, thank you," she answered, relieved.

McGonagall raised her wand and muttered something before throwing silver powder over her.

The next thing Hermione knew, she was looking at the infirmary ceiling. She blinked a couple of times taking in her environment.

"Ah, at last!" she heard, from the familiar voice of the school nurse. "You had me a bit worried, dear."

"Oh?" she said stupidly, pushing herself up to a seated position. Meanwhile madame Pompfrey had produced her wand and was waving it around her in circles. A series of numbers and symbols appeared from it and Hermione wondered just how difficult it would be to learn those diagnosis spells.

"Hmm hmm," the nurse commented. "The sleeping spell Professor McGonagall placed on you was only supposed to last for a couple of hours at most, but you have slept for eight hours straight!"

"What happened? What does it mean?"

"Since my readings were normal I took it to mean that you were in need of sleep, dear, but I was about to wake you up just in case."

"So everything's alright, then?"

The nurse sighed deeply, looking around to her other patients.

"I wish I could say that, but you are well enough to leave, I guess. If you hurry, you will have time to clean up before dinner. Prof- The headmistress has summoned everybody."

"I will do that. Thank you, Madame," Hermione said. Mme. Pompfrey simply nodded, then went back to the area surrounded by curtains in which Hermione guessed Bill was healing. Hermione was tempted to follow but then she remembered her other mission and walked out of the infirmary and towards Gryffindor Tower trying to appear calm. Then, at the first deserted corridor she found, she stopped to think. What would be riskier: disillusionment or animagus?

 _Or neither_ , she realised. They were _her_ quarters after all, so why would it be suspicious for her to go back? And she could always pretend she wasn't able to enter, if caught.

She walked down to the dungeons, looking straight ahead, trying not to look suspicious and feeling she was failing miserably.  A group of fourth year ravenclaws stopped and stared at her, even, but didn't dare to say anything. She thought she was lucky that the dungeons corridor was deserted when she arrived. With a last glance, she crossed the wall into her corridor, casting a quick "homemum revelio" to confirm she was alone.

The quarters looked exactly as she remembered them, except for the mess she had made in his room, partly visible through the open room.

She looked towards the hearth, as he had instructed her, and focused in the winged serpent etched in the stone over the fireplace. She hadn't particularly paid attention to it before, as there were plenty of other references to snakes in their quarters. This one was a very detailed relief, but indistinct from any other statue of the castle. She looked for the piece of blood-soaked cloth in her pocked and went to rub it against the head of the snake, then thought better of it and rubbed it against the flank - nobody would like to have blood on their eyes.

Before her eyes, the snake seemed to separate from the wall and its head turned to look at her, hissing something she was not able to understand. However, she knew the answer.

"The blood of Salazar Slytherin's sucessor in Hogwarts summons you. He has been persecuted while remaining loyal to Hogwarts, and therefore orders you to seal these quarters and keep its contents safe from anyone but himself or his kin."

The snake kept looking fixedly at her, the tongue sizzling in her direction, then its head tilted wonderingly.

"I am Salazar Slytherin's sucessor's next of kin, and I summon you in his behalf since he is in danger and unable to summon you himself."

At this the snake seemed to retreat only to throw itself back at her lightning-quick. She stepped back but not before the snake grazed her cheek with its fangs, making a slight cut.

She summoned a ward, fearing another attack, but the snake seemed to be ignoring her now. Hermione had the distinc impression that it was thinking. It reatreated then, snaked up the wall, then disappeared inside it. She watched it reappear and disappear around the quarters, her wand still up, but she had the inkling it had worked. Either that or it was giving the alarm. She hoped, not for the first time that day, that McGonagall hadn't acquired Dumbledore's omniscience where the castle was concerned.

She looked at the clock, and saw she still had ten minutes before dinnertime. She hurried to her room and looked into her drawers for something she could make into a token for Snape. Earrings (no way), a couple of useless silver girlish bracelets (he couldn't use silver near his hands while brewing) - and a golden charm from her grandma she refused to part with. She scanned the room and her eyes fell on the chessman standing guard on her bedside table besides a pile of books, a useless wrist watch and a mug full of quills. The black knight.

She took it to the living room and placed it besides its white brothers, still lying on the beside table where Snape had originally put them. She had certainly made advances, and was able to get a different feeling from each of the knights. Still, she hadn't been able to detect which one of them held the malicious curse. She drew her wand but hesitated just before casting the counter-charm. She extended her other hand and felt for the magic. First left, the slight pleasant sizzling, almost like electricity. Then right, the rumbling feeling, steady and constant.

There was no clear feeling of danger coming from any of them, however... with slightly trembling fingers, she grabbed the one in the right. Warmth covered instantly and she laughed, delighted, at the unmistakeable feeling of a protection charm.

Hermione sliced both chessmen open with her wand, then carefully burned the same runes on both of them. She waved her wand forming the complicated pattern of the protean charm that would link both of the chessmen, her breathing becoming more and more laboured. When she was done, she sealed the halves back together and leaned back into the sofa with a sigh of satisfaction.

However, just then sounded the chime announcing dinner.

"Drat!" uttered Hermione, straightening up.

She sent a message from the black knight to the white one "Hi" and watched it appear on the side. Oh. She had been expecting it on the bottom, but there was really no good reason why it would. A thing to think about later.

She pocketed the white knight and carried the black one to her bedroom. She surveyed the familiar space, thinking quickly... where would he find it and recognise it but wouldn't look suspicious if found by any other person?

In the end she simply placed it back on her bedside table, smiling ruefully at her overthinking. She hoped that he would remember.


	23. End of Term

Hermione walked quickly towards the Great Hall, casting amplification sounds in every direction. If she was able to reach the entrance hall without being seen, she would be able to pretend she had been walking outside and nobody would know of her little incursion in their quarters. The dungeons were surprisingly silent and empty, and it wasn't until she reached the dungeons' main corridor that she heard the hushed voices of a group of slytherins going towards the main hall. Hermione hurried towards the closest door - a toilet - and locked the door behind her.

She warded the door with a mild repellent spell and forced herself to breath evenly while she waited for them to pass. With the amplification spell the conversation they were having soon reached her hears.

"Stop your fidgeting, Nott. You look like you killed the Old Fool yourself."

"I ain't done anything, I was in my room, sleeping" a voice - Nott - answered defensively.

"More like snoring like a dragon..." added a third voice with a chuckle.

"I know," answered the first voice, tiredly.

"Then what d'you care?" asked Nott snappily.

"I don't want to get hexed all the way to Hogsmeade just by walking besides you!"

Someone huffed.

"We're going to get hexed no matter what..."

"Not if we hex first. You know what Greengrass said: hand on the wand at all times and move in groups."

"Not even Gryffindors would be stupid enough to start a group fight in the middle of..." added another voice, but they were walking away and Hermione wasn't able to hear anything else.

She went to one of the basins and was startled by her appearance. Her hair was tousled, her clothes rumpled and dirty. And now that she was thinking about it she started feeling smelly.

As she splashed water over her head and straightened her clothes with her wand, she thought absently about what she had heard. The slytherins were scared, strange that she hadn't thought about it. But of course, she would never think of attacking any slytherins - other than the ones she knew were implicated in the attack, and they were not anywhere in the vicinity.

Once she thought herself presentable and made sure nobody was approaching, she directed her steps towards the great hall, only to hear some shouting ahead. What now? she thought desperately, pulling out her wand and praying the Gryffindors hadn't been indeed that stupid.

She hedged out of the dungeons corridor unnoticed and joined a group of Gryffindor's fourth years near the front gates. They werShe peeked through the corner to see small groups of students staring unashamedly at a sandy-haired, sharp-faced woman stading with her arms crossed and the impression of being genuinely affronted.

"I am not leaving Hogwarts, everybody's here and Dumbledore's-"

"So what? Death Eaters attacked yesterday. They proved they could get in whenever they please. I'm not leaving you here."

"I'm not running away now. I'm not a coward."

"I don't care what everybody else is doing. We are leaving today."

"I'm of age and I-"

"And you are still my son!"

"Not even You-Know-Who is making me leave before Dumbledore's funeral, not even you."

"Seamus..."

"Mother..."

They both looked at each other, two sharp, freckled and stubborn faces, until maybe for the first time, the mother sighed.

"Alright, but only until after the funeral. Not a second longer."

Seamus nodded, stiffly, then grudgingly passed an arm around his mother's shoulders, and she gave him a brief hug with a sigh.

The onlookers dispersed and Hermione entered the Great Hall unremarked. She immediately located the Weasleys at the end of the Gryffindor table. When she approached, Harry and Neville made some room for her when she approached and she took the seat gratefully. Now that she was confronted by the delicious smells coming from the table she realised just how hungry she was.

"Hey Hermione, everything's alright?"

"Hi Neville. Yes, sure. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, it was only a few bumps and some cracked ribs. Mme. Pompfrey let me go early this morning. I saw you on the way out, though, but you were sleeping and since I didn't see you in all day..."

"What, you were at the Hospital Wing? Why?"

Asked Harry, and as much as it alarmed her that her absence had been noticed, she felt mostly hurt that it hadn't been Harry or Ron the ones who had.

"I couldn't sleep so McGonagall sent me to the Hospital Wing this morning" answered Hermione, the twisted words coming easily to her mouth, then she turned to Neville. "I spent there the most part of the day."

"You do look tired," added one of the twins helpfully, from the other side of the table.

"Thank you, Fred."

"I live to serve," answered the other twin, flashing a somewhat half-hearted smile.

"Everybody else is alright?"

"Ernie got a broken leg, and Hannah was hit by a course and it's still in the Hospital wing, but Mme Pompfrey says she will recover completely. And, well, there's..." trailed off Neville, making a gesture towards the twins.

"Bill is fine," said Ron.

"Well, not right now, technically, but he will be," added George Weasley.

"Sturdy as the dragons he trains, he is. Oh wait... was it that one?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and threw a chunk of breat at him.

"Not funny," she declared. However the meal passed with higher spirits than Hermione would have hoped for.

 

The next two days passed slowly, even though there seemed to be a lot of movement around them - parents picking up their children, family visiting the convalescents and guests arriving for the funeral.

Harry and Hermione took turns accompanying Ron and Ginny at Bill's bedside table. He was already conscious and alert on the second day and was, in fact, much more entertaining company than most of his visitors, Hermione reckoned.

All the time they weren't visiting Bill, Harry disappeared with the excuse of "needing to check something" - which Hermione interpreted as wanting to grieve alone. Hermione knew Harry was shutting them off but, after Sirius, she also knew that he would be more receptive to whatever she had to say to him when he cooled off. Also, she had other pressing worry: what to do next.

She knew they would have to leave Hogwarts and, unless absolutely necessary, wouldn't be able to come back. And that was assuming Hogwarts would open at all. What would happen with the library, where would she be able to research at? How would they find how to destroy Horcruxes? But not only that: healing spells. Who would they go to if they were injured? And who would make the Order potions? Would they be able to use Grimmauld Place? Was there any other safe place to use as Headquarters?

She would have talked most of these issues with McGonagall but after her recent stunt she considered wiser to keep a low profile. In addition, Molly had already extended an invitation to her and Harry to go to the Burrow after the funeral that she planned on taking, so she figured she could leave her concerns about the running of the Order until then. However, the Horcruxes were a different matter altogether.

For some unphantomable reason Dumbledore had decided that Harry should be the one to carry out that particular task, and Hermione feared it might be too much for him. For all of them. For this reason she had sneaked back into Snape's quarters and revised his library, taking a few books on dark curses and counter-curses to revise at a further date that were now safely packed in the bottom of her trunk. She hoped he wouldn't hold it against her.

She had also scoured the library anew in search of any information on Horcruxes, as well as dark spells, and had a alarmingly big pile of books disillusioned by her reinstated bed in Gryfindor tower that, however, Hermione had little hope of finding useful.

After revising for the third time "Darkest Darkness" without finding anything relevant, she did something she rarely did: threw the book against the wall. It was useless. Hermione made a noise of frustration. It couldn't be. She couldn't accept that there was not a single book on Horcruxes in Hogwarts. What had she missed?

She spotted Crookshanks on the window sill and went to join him. He immediately climbed on her lap and she petted him automatically. A light warm breeze was coming through the open window and she felt her tension ebbing. She needed to think. They would leave after the funeral the next day and there was a very real possibility that they will not come back.

What to take? What to leave? The book search had proven fruitless, but she had already taken some potions vials and ingredients. They should also prepare for persecution. If the government were to fall, they couldn't possibly keep imposing their presence to the Weasleys; they would be aprehended and prosecuted. Where to go? To the mountains? To France? Hermione thought unlikely that they would be able to advance much on the Horcrux hunt in either place, but still added Mr. Weasley's tent and a portkey guide to her mental list. Canned food for three had already been on the list for a while.

However, that reminded her of the conversation she had been putting off.

She had no doubt about her role in this mess: she would help Harry defeat Voldemort or die trying. As far as she was concerned, the war was not only about Harry. It was about prejudice, and it was about Muggleborn's rights. Her rights. She had two options: to fight or to flee, and Harry or no Harry, her own conscience wouldn't allow her to do the later. However Ron... he did have another option, and before she enrolled him in whatever searching those Horcruxes would involve, she needed to be sure he had considered all his options first.  

She would speak to Ron that evening, she decided. In the light of the recent events she no longer thought their uneasy feelings even remotely important. At the end of the day, she cared for him and she would put her life in the line for him if it came to it. Exactly as she had decided to do for Harry.

As she observed absently the Headmaster's tower, the lights went off. However an idea lighted up in her mind. Dumbledore should definitely have read about the Horcruxes somewhere. He must have done some research; it was likely he would have kept the books close by for inspiration. And even in the distance, she could see that the window was open.

Nothing to lose, she thought.

Gathering her thoughts, she opened the window wider, pointed her wand towards the Headmaster's tower and enunciated clearly: accio Horcrux books.

To her delight, after barely a couple of seconds, a few undistinguishable objects seemed to come out of the Headmaster's open window and glide across the night sky towards her. She stepped to the side to make room for the books. A total of four aged books in differentes states of decay landed on the floor by her feet and for the first time since the Headmaster's death, she felt some hope.

 


	24. Out in the Woods

As Hermione had predicted, they had left Hogwarts, then the Burrow, then Grimmauld Place. And in the Woods it was indeed difficult to come by any new information of any type.

They had managed to find a Horcrux in the Ministry of Magic, although creating an awful racket, and it was making an already difficult situation completely untenable. That thing was vicious. Evil. And to top things up even Ron had left them.

She clenched her teeth and clamped down the surge of angry tears. She would have never expected it. He was loyal, reliable Ron. A bit of a git sometimes but he had always had the heart in the right place. The frustration and anguish was absorbing her and, all of a sudden, she realised that she couldn't possibly make it. She wanted to leave, go to her parents. She could, couldn't she? After all, that's what Ron had done...

She shifted and the shock of cold of the metal chain against her chest reminded her she was wearing _it_. She took it off and threw it to the floor, silently daring Harry to come out and say something about it. He had been adamant that it should always be around the neck of one of them, but Hermione had thought for a while it would be better to just drop in the bottom of her bag.

Harry, however, was hiding inside the tent with Rita Skeeter's book and probably in one of his moods. He had barely spoken to her after the fiasco at Gryffindor's Hollow, although Hermione suspected he was mostly sulking about his broken wand.

Hermione sighed firmly pushing down the surge of guilt that appeared everytime she thought about the wand. Becoming bitter herself wouldn't help the situation. The Horcrux situation. The wild goose chase.

Harry was desperately guilty about everything and she was at her wits' end. Although, if she was honest, there was still a tiny, slim sliver of possibility that, although potentially catastrophic, it had appeared more and more recurrently in her thoughts.

Her hand slid into her pocked and twirled the white knight between her fingers, consideringly. It was cold and inert, as it had been since she made the first and only contact with Snape two months ago. She had been desperate then too. That morning they had overheard the conversation between the Goblin, Dean Thomas and Ted Tonks about Gryffindor's sword and she had spent the day fretting if she should let Snape know or not. But when Ron had left she had given in - they definitely had needed help. She had waited until Harry fell into a restless sleep to throw protective enchantments around her bed and produce the chessman.

She still remembered the conversation word for word. She had sent the first message only too aware of the code they had settled between them at her parent's door. If the answer hadn't been the correct one, she would have burnt the knight to ashes. **  
**

_Who is there?_

**Mercury.** **  
**

When the word had materialised she had felt a weight fell out of her shoulders. ** **  
****

_Safe to speak?_

**Yes**

_Gryf's sword Gringotts_  

_Is fake_

There had been a lengthy pause and Hermione had thought he might have gone. Then,

**I know**

_Need original_

**Not possible**

_Need it._

Another lengthy pause. Then finally.

**Where?**

Hermione had felt the blood pounding in her ears. She trusted him, but it wasn't her secret alone and...

 _Can't say_.

_Can't meet with you_

_Sorry_

_**Then how?** _

Hermione had felt completely miserable. How could she be asking for help if she wasn't able to compromise? To trust?

_I don't know_

_Hide it?_

_We'll take it_

**Unreasonable.**

She had silently agreed.

_Please?_

Seconds tickled by.

**I'll think about it.**

The rush of relief had been so strong she had felt light-headed.

 _Thank you,_ she wrote fervently. Then, _you ok?_

**Fine**

**You?**

_Same_

She had hesitated. She had had so many things to ask, so many things she would have liked to tell him, to tell somebody... In the end she had only wrote two more words.

_Take care._

And she had not received anything else ever since.

It was true that she had felt immensely relieved right after the conversation but as time went by without answer she had started to doubt that she had made the right choice. Had something happened to him? Had she given up too much info? Sometimes she had to convince herself that she hadn't dreamt the events at Spinner's End.

She heard shuffling on her back and turned to see Harry approach with a grim expression. Only then she noticed that it was completely dark except for her bluebell fire. She sighed and grabbed the locked from ground. She was supposed to have given it to him at sundown.

"It is my turn," said Harry unnecessarily but Hermione bit back the remark and just gave him the locket instead. After all, he had not commented on the fact she hadn't been wearing it.

She walked pass him into the tent and waved her wand, reigniting the fire and reinforcing the warming charms. Meanwhile Harry had gone to the kitchen and returned with two bowls of smoking soup. Hermione took it as an apology for his behaviour and thanked him politely. They ate in silence. When they were done and the dishes were clean she stood and offered her wand to Harry.

"Take it, you have _that thing_. Besides, I'm going to sleep."

He nodded and took the wand before settling back around the fire.

Hermione entered 'her bedroom' and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to change. She hadn't done it since Ron left. It was hard for her to admit it, but without Ron the balance did not hold. They lost their stability. They felt more wild. She felt more hopeless.

She kicked out her trainers and bundled herself in the blankets. What would happen to them?

Unconsciously her hand went to her pocket and closed around the white knight. Uncharacteristically for her, she felt like praying - she wasn't sure to whom. _Please, let me have made the right choice. Please let everything be okay._

As sleep took her, she could almost feel a caress, an awareness, coming through the chessman.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who have been following this story might have noticed that this is not the first time that I skip important canon events to start narrating immediately afterwards but this is the first time I skip so many without even commenting them. Since the very beginning I've been struggling whenever I had to rewrite parts of the story that followed canon, mainly because they are already written - by JK Rowling, no less!! - and I felt silly summarizing them or trying to come up with some plot twists to make them different. So, in the end, I've decided to stop doing it altogether. That is, from now on I will skip all the canon-compliant parts (I assume all of you will be familiar with them by now) and focus only in the deviations of my story. Hopefully that will make updating easier! :)
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank all of you who are following the story and taking the time to drop a comment! I'm trying to answer them all - it's always a joy to find one in my inbox! - but some might have slipped past me. Give me some time. ^^


	25. Change of Strategy

Someone woke her up roughly and she half aimed for the wand that wasn't under her pillow while trying to keep her eyes open and focused.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"See who's back," answered Harry, grinning madly.

Before she could ask anything else, he stepped aside to show her a tired, soaked figure with an uncertain expression.

Hermione blinked at the image for a few seconds before she felt sure she wasn't dreaming and a surge of happiness threatened to overwhelm her for an instant before it was replaced with cold fury.

"You complete **ARSE,** " she sputtered, and proceeded to tell him just how angry and disappointed she was with him in the most colorful terms she could think of.

She admitted it had been ages since she had lost it like that.

However, a couple of days after her tantrum, she still could not muster regret or embarrassment over it. Although she did not feel so hopeless any more and that morning, as she browsed through her books, deciding which one she should review, she felt almost cheery.

Her eyes fell on Skeeter's book, lying on Harry's bedside and decided to give it a try. She had been postponing it, thinking that in some way Harry had the right to read it first but since Ron's return he had seemingly forgotten about it.

That same afternoon, barely one third into the book, she found it, the same sign again. Grindewald's sign. The exact same sign Dumbledore had written in his book and, Hermione would swear, the sign on Godric's Hollow's grave. Sleep refused to come that night.

The next day, while the boys were preparing lunch, she dropped the bomb.

"Harry, I want to visit Xenophilus Lovegood," she stated. Harry protested immediately and Hermione was glad she hadn't mentioned her first idea: Dumbledore's portrait at Hogwarts. She then explained how signs had been piling up and she just couldn't ignore them anymore. "It there is a link between Grindewald, Dumbledore and Godric's Hollow then we should know about it," she explained in a reasonable tone, "and you know well enough where the portrait of the only other possible source of information is hanging..."

She could see the conflict in Harry's face and thought she had won him over. Still, she had been secretly grateful for Ron's intervention and consequent favourable voting. A smile had almost escaped her. Gods, how she had missed his antics.

And so they paid Lovegood a visit.

It was a close scape. But however close it had been, nobody dared suggest the visit had been futile, even if it made even more questions arise.

 _Deathly Hallows._ She simply couldn't believe it. There had to be another explanation, she simply refused to start a new goose chase of mythical objects. And the worst thing was that Harry had become obsessed about it, despite all her explanations and Ron's doubts. But he would not be deterred; he was convinced that he had two of the Hallows and You-Know-Who was looking for the third. Hermione had begun to suspect he had also started to avoid her and Ron.

As the days passed an idea had been taking hold in her mind, growing stronger and stronger. There was only one way Harry would believe the Deathly Hallows were not real: hearing it from Dumbledore himself. In addition, she might be able to trace the Peverel's line and see if there was indeed a connection with the Gaunts. She shuddered to consider the implications if that was confirmed.

Meanwhile, Ron had committed himself to re-start the Horcrux search and they were going over and over their information. They visited more and more unlikely places searching for a hint of You-Know-Who's presence or, in Hermione's opinion, a miracle. Unsurprisingly, nothing new was coming up. Still, Ron insisted, all while trying to keep an heroic balance, not confirming or denying the existence of the Hallows.

"Other than the ring, the locket and the sword, there were no other known existing relics from the founders," Hermione repeated, for what felt like the thousandth time.

"As for the Deathly Hallows, we know he's looking for the wand, therefore, he doesn't have it yet."

Hermione bit her lip to keep from answering him. She found plausible that You-Know-Who was looking for a more powerful wand, or at least one that would solve the link that joined his with Harry's, but the Deathstick? A stick made by Death itself?

"I think by now it would be a good guess to assume that if there's a complete invisibility cloak, that's Harry's," said Ron, conciliatory,"But You-Know-Who has never seemed interested in it..."

Silence settled again and Hermione thought it was a good moment to put her plan at work.

"Now let's think about another possibility. What if the Hallows do not exist - or at least he doesn't know about them?" They both looked at her, Harry with suspicion , Ron with hopelessness. "I just think maybe we should consider other options than the relics and the Hallows..."

"You are right," said Ron immediately, "What else would You-Know-Who consider good enough to stick a bit of his soul in? What else is important to him?"

"Hogwarts," answered Harry instantly. "But we have already covered it."

"The founders' relics, once again," agreed Ron.

"And the diary, for his school days and the chamber of secrets," added Harry, looking incensed, as always. "He was so proud of that one..."

"Exactly," replied Hermione, "I'm thinking we should focus on objects like that diary, personal objects, things he could be proud about..." she trailed off, seeing Ron's face had become sickly white. "Ron?"

"The diary is not the only proof of him opening the chamber," he enunciated, looking nauseous.

"What do you mean..?"

"The Trophy. He got a Trophy for that. _'Special Services for the School'_. I told you after my detention with Filch, remember?"

They looked at each other shell-shocked.

She had completely forgotten about it.

"Could it be?" she asked with a weak voice.

"It can't be," said Ron, recovering his natural colour "not right under Dumbledore's nose, all this time."

"The diary was under Dumbledore's nose too..." said Harry somberly.

"But only for a year."

"And the Chamber of Secrets?"

She took a deep breath. It was time.

“I think I should go back."

"What?"

"Where to?"

"Hogwarts. Hear me out," she begged, "Dumbledore thought You-Know-Who asked for a teaching position to be able to access Hogwarts, not because he actually thought they would give him the post. Except for the Orphanage all the clues are constantly pointing to Hogwarts, to a Horcrux being kept there. In addition, I think it's about time Dumbledore gives some explanations. About the Deathly Hallows, among other things," she added, trying to sway Harry.

Harry pressed his lips together, but Ron was quite adamant for once.

"But it's madness! Hogwarts is a Death Eater stronghold. Half of the teachers there are Death Eaters."

"And Snape's there too," added Harry as if that solved everything. "He knows we have the cloak. Besides, there's no way the three of us would fit in there anymore."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I know. That's why I want to go alone."

“What? No way. If someone is going it will be the three of us,” stated Ron.

She shook her head in negation.

“Listen, it’s not just sneaking in and out. We would need some time to look for it. _I_ would need time to do some research. As you say, the school is full of Death Eaters, if someone noticed us, we would be dead. And if we stay there they would notice us for sure. Going the three of us would be plainly stupid.”

Harry scoffed.

“And it’s much more reasonable sending you all alone as a sacrificial lamb so that if you get caught only one of us dies. Perfect!” he said nastily.

“We can go to the chamber of secrets. The only Parselmouth apart from Harry is Voldemort, and I don’t think he’ll visit the school that often,” said Ron.

“It’s not that simple... Myrtle lives in that bathroom, remember? If we go in and out several times a day she would end up seeing us.” Replied Hermione. “Besides, we need to talk to Dumbledore’s portrait, and the other portraits will warn Snape. Now he is the Headmaster and they are sworn to serve him. Getting out of the castle from the Headmaster tower once we are seen will be impossible.”

“Then we won’t talk to Dumbledore...”

“But Harry, we need to! We are totally stuck right now.”

“So what are you suggesting? Sending you there to be killed on the spot after sending us a coin message? We aren't even sure that he has something to tell us.”

“When - _if_ \- I get caught Snape will protect me. After that, I'll figure a way out,” stated Hermione with more confidence than she felt. "He doesn't know I'm an animagus."

Harry googled at her as if she was raving mad. "Protect you?"

“He’ll have to.” She insisted quickly. “Look, Harry, no matter what he did and how he felt about it, he swore an oath of protection towards me. Once he knows I’m in the castle, he _will have to_ protect me or he will suffer the consequences. Moreover, if he’s as high ranked as you seem to think, then the others Death Eaters will have to respect that. But it might not come to that, as I said, it would be easier to sneak in and out for one of us.”

He opened again his mouth to retaliate, but was cut by Ron’s grave voice.

“She may have a point, mate.” Ron said quietly but making both of his friends turn to look at him. He looked as dejected as she had ever seen him. “I don’t like one bit the idea of separating. And I’m not so sure about the others Death Eaters... but if the vows work as they should, then Snape would have to protect her, by force. And you and me know that he’s not one to be trifled with.”

“But we don’t know that. And I won’t risk it!” Harry exclaimed.

“We can check it.” Ron motioned towards Hermione. “She made a vow too. And it should have the same strength as his.”

“Oh, Ronald. That’s brilliant!” She exclaimed, and she suddenly got the feeling that he was avoiding her eyes. “It should be easy enough to check the strengh of the vows with mine.”

Harry put off a fight for a bit longer, but in the end, he agreed they were running out of options and after a few more discussions they developped a plan. During the following week they spent the morning testing just how far she could go, from thinking in revelling his true loyalties to try to explain the personal "tells" she had discovered while living with him.

The results were promising. Even thinking of doing something that she would even remotely consider as a treason made her nauseous and the moment she tried to act on it she felt an intense pain in her stomach that almost paralised her and that evaporated the moment she redirected her thoughts.

To come up with an infiltration plan that satisfied both Harry and Ron took a couple of weeks longer. Ron had proven to be exceedingly good in pointing out the flaws and extremely exigent. However, they eventually agreed and the moment to part ways arrived.


	26. The Return

"Remember, three days," repeated Ron for the thousandth time. "In three nights from now, you need to get your furry arse back here. Not a second longer."

Hermione, in her animagus form, huffed indignantly not knowing very well where to glare. They had decided Ron should remain under Harry's cloak when they were not under their protection spells. However, when she felt the fabric-covered hand hesitantly caressing her neck, she forgave him immediately - she had noticed he was hesitant to pet her in animagus form.

Harry had remained silent and was looking into the distance. Hermione understood. The painfully familiar silhouette of Hogwarts' Castle was visible from where they were standing, bathed in the moonlight. At their backs, the too well known streets of Hogsmeade were tempting them with the promise of familiar faces and a sweet butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, even if at this time of the night they looked empty and silent. Only the smoke coming out of some of the chimneys reassured them that it wasn't a ghost town.

She gave him a few more moments, then nudged his leg. She had a long way to the castle, particularly if new wards had been cast to prevent animagus interference and she had to try Hogsmeade's passages. She was hopeful, though. As far as Snape knew, the only animagus alive were McGonagall and Wormtail, and much as he might dislike them he had no real excuse to keep either of them outside Hogwarts. Harry crouched by her side and petted her on the back of her head.

"Please be careful," he said gravely, holding her eyes. She nodded emphatically to reassure him and after quick nudges to both of them she bounded off towards the silent gates. Harry and Ron would keep guard in case she had troubles until they saw her pass the gates.

She reached them without trouble and confirmed with satisfaction that the space between the bars was indeed more than enough for her to slip through. But first she had to check the wards. Even in her animagus form she was clearly able to feel them, and when she discreetly transformed and disillusioned herself the feeling was so strong that her skin tingled. She wondered at it for a moment before realising she had spent months subjected to minimum amounts of magic. She remembered a deep voice saying ' _It's easier to detect magic when you are not surrounded by it - this castle is as magical as it gets.'_

Hermione shuddered.

Now that he was so close and there was the very real possibility of meeting _him_ , she was having very contradictory feelings. After all those months with only Harry and Ron, there were two 'Snapes' warring for dominance in her head; the evil traitor that murdered Dumbledore and the reliable and capable companion. Sometimes she felt a frisson of fear just by hearing his name and had to remind herself who made possible that her parents were safe and oblivious in Australia, while some others she was immensely comforted just to think he was somewhere out there and that if it came to it, he would be on her side.

Now it's not the time for reflection, she chided herself, and started concentrating on the wards. After changing into an otter and back a few times, she was able to detect the same layers in both forms with a single difference: as a human she sensed the subtle rumble she had come to identify as a sign of hostility that had passed by her as an otter. She transformed again and looked for it but it was gone. Inert.

What to do? It could mean the castle protections did not recognise animagus as wizards, which would mean a clear path for her. But it also could mean that in her animagus form she was simply not able to detect the nuances.

The sky was clearing out over the mountains. Sunrise was close and she had to make a decision. With a deep breath, she jumped through the bars inside Hogwarts' grounds...

...and nothing happened.

Feeling equally ridiculous and relieved, she turned to give a last wave towards the hill she knew Harry and Ron where occupying and skipped out of the path and towards the castle until she had a clear view of the main doors. _Closed, no surprise there_. Then she directed her steps towards Greenhouse 1, the one with the most innocuous plants, and transformed. She took the backpack off her shoulders and checked its contents. Transforming without loosing the backpack had taken her some practice, but everything was there: a blanket, the marauder's map, a galleon , two sets of mirrors and a bunch of carrots to chew on if she had troubles getting some food.

She checked on the map that there was nobody around before searching for each and every member of the old Dumbledore's Army. Of the original group, only seven members remained at Hogwarts. She picked the Galleon then and sent a message, her eyes alert to the slightest movement of any of the seven dots.

_Anybody there?_

The answer came before any of the dots shuffled and her heart sank.

**Yes. Who is it?**

What to do? It might mean that whoever saw her message was outside Hogwarts or one of the coins had been intercepted. But, on the other hand, if somebody at the castle had noticed the message, it had to be because they were sleeping with the coin, so they would not have necessarily have to move. _Very smart, Hermione._

_Go out of the room_

_please_

She waited for an answer with batted breath, her eyes watching avidly the map. With a jolt, she noticed Neville's dot moving out of the bedroom and into the seventh years' bathroom, just before the answer came.

**Done. Who R U?**

_It's HG._

_Need to see u_

_Bouncing Bulbs_

_After breakfast_

If it was really Neville, he wouldn't ask for more indications. After a few moments, he answered.

**Ok**

Hermione let out a sigh of relief letting her head fall against the wall behind her. She couldn't have asked for it to go any better. Then a thought struck her. _  
_

_Bring Gin._

**Ok**

Hermione hesitated whether to write anything else when he took the decision from her.

**See U**

_Take care_

 

 ----:----

 

Neville threw his arms around her the moment she appeared from behind a wall of sleeping ivy.

“How are you?" he asked. "And Harry and Ron?” he asked, searching around her. Ginny had remained a few steps behind, her wand out, and was also searching around her.

“They’re not here. But they’re fine.”

“I thought you were with them,” said Ginny accussingly, raising her wand.

“I was. I came here to research. Wait...” she thought briefly how to convince them she was herself. "I was the one that chose the name Dumbledore's Army, just to spite the Ministry."

Neville nodded, and Ginny pocketed her wand, looking a bit disappointed. Hermione felt for her, she was sure she was the one she least wanted to see from the trio.

“How can we help you?” asked Neville.

“I need you to carry me inside.”

“Carry you? How?”

She transformed quickly into the otter and back.

“Wow... That’s cool, Hermione,” Neville said, his eyes boggling a bit.

“Thank you,” she replied with a satisfied smile. “I reckon I should fit in one of your backpacks. Also, I need to ask you some questions. Can you think of someplace safe to talk?”

“This should be pretty safe," answered Neville looking around," most of the plants here won't need tending within the next two weeks and Professor Sprout doesn't care that much anymore, I mean-"

"He means that Professor Sprout keeps to herself this year - and her Hufflepuffs," added Ginny in a sharper tone that she was used of hearing from her. "And not a lot of people would dare to roam around isolated places by themselves, just in case."

Neville shrugged.

"In any case, we could use my bedroom for now. It’s only me and Seamus this year, and he's on detention all day,”  he proposed.

"With a muffliato and a couple of well-placed wards we should be safe to talk," agreed Ginny, "But be warned you will have to give some answers too...”

 

Fifteen minutes afterwards they were settled in a extrangely empty seventh years' bedroom at Gryffindor tower. As Neville had said, there were only two beds on opposite sides of the room and not even Seamus' messiness helped to make the room any less empty.

“Ok, you first," prompted Ginny, "ask away.”

“I need to know everything that’s happening. Changes, new rules, who patrols the corridors and when, which passages are safe... everything,” she repeated, slightly apologetic.

Ginny and Neville took turns to explain. Hemione produced a notebook and a pencil from her cloak and pretended not to notice the shared look of amusement of her friends as she started taking notes. However, the amused expressions were short lived. Soon she knew who the Carrows were, about their punishments and their lessons. Also who the remainder members of the DA were, what they were doing and who was supporting them.

She tried to ignore the wary looks they would send her way - and the little somersault her stomach did - everytime they mentioned Snape. Even though their dislike towards him was apparent, they also seemed to be a little puzzled by his behaviour, as they had already noticed that it was far better to be discovered by the Headmaster than by any of the Carrows.

“They are bloody evil, I tell you. Evil, sick and cruel,” Neville said, with a ferocity she had rarely witnessed in her friend.

"Scum," added Ginny. "The worst type of rotting, worthless scum."

“They don’t care if it’s a seventh year or a little first year what they catch, they punish it the same. There’s always someone at the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey doesn't know what to do.”

Hermione thought she was close to be sick.

“They have it in for the Gryffindors, that's for sure. We try to protect the little ones, but there’s not much that we can do.”

“Have you thought of the Room of Requirement?”

“Yes, we hide people there when the Carrows are looking for them, but...” Neville shook his head.

They reflected in silence for a few minutes.

“Now, your turn. Ditch!” Exclaimed Ginny.

“There’s not much to tell..." started Hermione. "We've been moving around, changing places often. I’ve been with them until yesterday. I can’t tell you where, but they are fine. We decided to split because I needed the library, and entering the three of us here was very dangerous.”

“We could have done research for you if you had told us, you know?” said Ginny.

“Yes and no. For starters, we couldn't contact you safely - we made too many coins and I don't know where they are. Sending the message this morning was already a huge gamble-"

"We could make new ones, just for us," cut Ginny.

"We could," agreed Hermione cautiously. She had not thought about including them in the communication network, but she had spare mirrors so maybe...

"So what do we have to research?" asked Neville, not sounding very enthusiastic. Hermione smiled, some things would never change.

"Nothing, really, that is my job."

"We can help," stated Ginny.

"No, you can't. Listen," said Hermione placatingly, seeing the girl was about to protest. "You know that Dumbledore gave Harry a special task...”

“Yeah,” answered Ginny. Neville only shrugged. Hermione looked at him, surprised.

“I guessed so,” he elaborated. "There was no way Harry - and yourself - would just go and hide away until the war is over."

“That's... very nice of you, Neville," said Hermione sincerely, blushing slightly. "Still, nobody else can know of this task. Seriously, _nobody_. If you all started suddenly researching on the same topic, Snape would notice. You know he is actually a legerements, don’t you?”

They nodded, paling slightly.

“That’s why I will try not to be in touch with you after today unless it's absolutely necessary. And if he asks you about me, you should tell him the truth: that you have seen me and that you have spoken to me but that you don't know where I am - you won't, after all."

“Rubbish! If you are caught at it, he will know far worse things than if we are...”

She shook her head.

“Not necessarily. I know how to defend myself from that.”

“But Hermione," said Neville, "there are other ways to make somebody talk...”

“I know, but you are forgetting something. He vowed to protect me; he can't hurt me. In fact, if I am caught by those Carrows, you should go warn Snape at once. Promise me.”

They acquiesced grudgingly. She took a deep breath.

“And I need to ask one last thing of you,” said Hermione, holding her hands together so they didn't give away how nervous made her what she was about to do. It had been a subject of heavy discussion between her, Harry and Ron, without reaching a definitive decision. However, Hermione thought their situation was dire enough to risk it.

“I need you to be alert to the Carrows', Snape's or even the Slytherins’ conversations. If you hear anything – _anything_ – about the Dark Lord wanting them to guard something, look for something or even having an interest in any particular item, tell me at once, in person. The same if you hear something about relics or legendary objects like Gryffindor's sword or Merlin's left sandal - you know, that type of thing.”

“It’s that what Dumbledore told you to do? He send you off to a treasure hunt??” asked Ginny in an incredulous tone, and Hermione couldn't blame her. _If only she knew..._

"Partly, but not quite. And it’s truly important, Gin,” Hermione chastised. She decided that at this point a bit more info wouldn't hurt. “We think – we are quite sure - that part of You-know-who’s powers come from these objects.”

"How can that be?"

"It's dark, very dark. It's sort of a reserve of power he... draws on when he needs it," hermione explained, thinking ruefully about just how useful her lessons to face her ministry citation had been.

“So you have to find these things before Harry or the Order attack him, so he would be weaker than he is now,” reasoned Neville.

She nodded, biting her lip. She knew she had said far too much, but they really needed help.

“And remember, above all, you must tell no one else. Under no circumstances. If he knew we know about them, he would hide them, and then it’s all over.”

Her two friends nodded gravely.

“You can trust us.”

“I know, Ginny, I know. Thank you, guys,” she said before hugging them fiercely. "Just... be careful," she added, hoping that she hadn't just made a mistake that would cost them all their lives.

 

 


	27. Mirrors

After her conversation with Ginny and Neville Hermione asked them to bring her to the kitchens, where they gathered some supplies for her, then dropped her under a table in the ethimology section of the library - and area close to the restricted section and generally deserted. It took her ten minutes of nudging them out - and even a small bite to Ginny's heel - before they finally left her alone and went out of the library. She really didn't want to call attention to herself and chances were that the Carrows were keeping an eye of them both. 

In addition, she wasn't able to get the Horcrux that might or might not be lying at this moment in the trophy room out of her head and did not feel up to struggle to have a normal conversation with them. At times she thought she could even feel it, to then resort to her concentration exercises and only feel the familiar buzz of the castle.

When the library close, she explored around and found a dark niche behind one of the dustier shelves, deep in the restricted section, where she felt comfortable enough to transform and have some careful bites from the food her friends took from the kitchen. 

Light fell painstakingly slow and by the time it was totally gone and the torches of the library shut down for curfew she had already eaten, out of anxiousness, more than half of the treacle tart she thought that would last for a week. She transformed, feeling the belly uncomfortably full, and padded to the entrance of the restricted section, where she could have a clear view of the study areas and the exit. She observed the dark sky through the big windows and not for the first time she wished she knew a bit more about guiding herself by the stars. She waited still for what felt like hours. Just when she was about to get out of her hideout she heard some steps and saw a short figure enter the room and point around with a lighted wand. It was only Flitwick making rounds, but she chastised herself for her carelessness.

She decided to go back for the map and survey Hogwarts before leaving - she didn't dare bringing it with her. Finally, around 1 a.m. when she saw all the teachers in their respective bedrooms, she put away the map and made her way towards the trophy room.

Moonlight filtered through the windows at the back of the room, bathing the room in a cold, eerie light that reflected in the glass of the showcases and the metal of the trophies, making her see flashes of light on the edge of her vision that set her nerves on edge.

She locked the door behind her and turned nervously towards the showcases. _Where are you?_

She didn't dare summon it so she walked slowly through the room, checking each and every label. Special Awards for Services to the School. Tom Riddle.

She rigidly observed it for a few minutes, a layer of cold sweat forming. She checked for protection spells or wards without result. Then, taking a deep breath, extended her hand towards it, trying to feel it, as she had done with Snape's chessman all those months ago. She had become familiar with the foul, thick feeling the locket gave off so she was pretty confident she would be able to detect this one. However, the expected feeling didn't come.

She focused harder. The buzzing of the castle grew stronger and her fingertips tingled with it, still nothing was coming out of the trophy itself. _It can't be, it fits!_ They had been so sure...

She looked around to the hundreds of trophies and thought that of course it couldn't be this simple. This might not be the true trophy. The real one might have been transfigured or glamoured. It could still be here, only posing as another one. The best way to hide something is in plain sight.

Knowing, deep down, that it was unlikely but also that she wouldn't feel completely reassured until she tried, Hermione started checking them one by one.

A couple of hours later the only thing she had found was a total of 16 trophies charmed with a variation of a tripping hex that made them tumble to the floor at variable intervals. Since none of them had triggered while she was there  she reckoned the charms were cast a few years back and were getting weak, making the trophies fall at more and more spaced intervals. Still, she had taken them all off - what a way to annoy poor Filch.

As she let herself slid to the floor, exhausted, her thoughts went to the Weasley twins - who else would have thought of doing something like this? - and felt an strange craving of having them around. They were infuriating at times, but so funny. And now they were playing such a dangerous game with Potterwatch... She let herself close her eyes for a moment to keep a sudden rush of tears in. She missed them but, more than that, she missed Hogwarts - her Hogwarts, not the dark and unsafe place that it had become.

She pulled herself together, she couldn't become sentimental in her situation; she was weak and depleted due to all the spell detecting and she would make an easy prey. Even if the Horcrux wasn't there, she still had a mission at Hogwarts before she went back to Ron and Harry.

She transformed and stretched to throw off the tiredness. She still had about an hour before Hogwarts started to wake up and she needed to gather the spell books for the two-way mirrors before hiding for the day.

She quickly found the books she used for the DA coins, and added to her bag another couple she thought promising. Then, she took a step back and surveyed the shelves with aprehension. Now, what next?

Despite herself, she thought she had a better chance at finding something new about the Deathly Hallows than about the Horcruxes, however unassailable the former seemed, since she had already scoured the library in search of any mention of them or the founder's relics.

Still, where to start? Legends? Too obvious. History? Too extensive. She needed another approach. Elder Wand. Resurrection stone. Invisibility Cloak. She decided immediately to forego the stone, since she didn't even want to imagine the kind of crap she would run into if she looked into resurrection before finding anything remotely useful.

Invisibility gave her no trouble, and soon a couple of manuals were added to her bag. However, wandlore... She skipped the readily available volumes on the proprieties of wood and cores and browsed through the catalogue of the restricted section, deciding to add to her selection an obscure volume about wand-binding and a catalogue of wands.

A quick tempus check told her it was already past five, so she hurried to the statue, and entered the tunnel to Honeydukes, where they had decided she would settle her camp; this way she had a way out of the castle in case of necessity.

As the statue closed the entry leaving her in darkness and the smell of mud and dampness hit her, she decided that they hadn't really thought this through. Fighting exhaustion she summoned a bluebell fire and casted a quick warming charm before wrapping herself into a blanket. It was no use, the floor was hard and cold and she quickly felt the dampness seeping through her robes.

The silence was deafening and, for an instant, she would have given up anything to be able to hear Ron's snores close to her. How would she explain this? She could already visualise their faces, filled with disappointment.

She shivered suddenly.

It was so cold, but she felt so tired... Instinctually, she transformed and, curled into herself, Hermione was finally able to stop thinking and surrender to sleep.

 -------

She woke up confused and in complete darkness. She could sense ( _smell?_ ) wet earth and water somewhere on her right even though the floor felt mostly stony under her paws. _Paws?_

Everything came back at once and she transformed. A quick tempus told her it was past two in the afternoon; the bluebell fire must have gone off at some point.

She lighted another small fire, ate some fruit and sandwiches she had kept from her trip to the kitchens, set a timer and started pouring over the texts. When the castle fell asleep once more, she sneaked to the library and replaced some of the books. Then filched some food from the kitchens and went back to the hidden passage to hide for the day.

By that night, she already had not only a pair of two-way mirrors, but three connected ones. And exactly a day after, she climbed up the hill to meet with Harry and Ron.

\-------------

"I still don't think it's a good idea," mumbled Harry after they had gone over their plan once more. They seemed to have deflated when she told them she hadn't found a Horcrux but, to their credit, they had not dueled on it and had thrown themselves onto their next step.

"It's the only one we have," replied Hermione, afraid that the old argument would start over again. She quickly changed topic. "Oh, and there's another thing. I made a third mirror."

"As a back-up?"

"Not really, I thought... Ginny."

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds.

"Let's do it," said Ron firmly. Harry remained silent, but the struggle was clear in his face.

"Come on, what harm would it do? As long as we don't tell her anything she is not in any more danger..."

"But it will be hard on our side - and theirs. It's still a huge risk."

"Come on, Harry. It's my sister. The Horcruxes are the last thing I would want to talk about - I would never involve her in this-" he cut himself abruptly.

Hermione wondered briefly if what he had meant to say was "mess", "disaster" or anything stronger.

"Alright," conceded Harry eventually. "But we would have to be very - _very -_ careful," he warned.

"You bet it," promised Ron immediately, his face alight as Hermione had not seen it in months. He turned to her. "I don't know what we would do without you."

Hermione reddened slightly and waved him off. "Then, if everything's settled, I should go back..."

It seemed as if a light had been switched off. Suddenly the atmosphere became sombre and they were back being the hardened, serious people they had become during the previous months. She was equally nervous and terrified of what she would try to pull off but she pushed through, she had to. "I will let you know through the mirrors when it's done - if you don't see it yourselves..."

"And if something happens we will check at the top of the hill every three nights," continued Ron dutifully. Then, he gave her a long look and hugged her suddenly. "You be careful, you hear me?"

"Of course," replied Hermione, gathering strength from his embrace and his warm, familiar smell. She thought, randomly, that she would be able to recognise that smell everywhere. She had grown up with it. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

Ron pulled back, clearing his throat, and Hermione went to hug Harry, that held her fiercely for a moment.

"Don't do anything reckless - nothing that I would do," he added ruefully and Hermione gave a watery chuckle.

"See you in a few days," she replied, and walked away, into the woods, where she would apparate back to Hogwarts.


	28. Infiltration

There was nothing for it, she thought before checking her pockets once more for any object that might offer more information than necessary about her (and the boys') mission and whereabouts. Hermione sighed deeple and transformed, with the last, consoling thought that whatever happened, it would be worse going back without trying.

 

Once back at the Castle it had been evident soon enough that the only feasible way to enter the Headmaster tower was through the Gargoyle - she wasn't about to try anything with a broom - and this required to know the password. She had gotten inside Hogwarts the same way she had the previous time, and she had had the chance to give Ginny the third mirror along with a request for the password of the Headmaster Tower. The redhead had apparently asked around, but hadn't been able to convince McGonagall, Flitwick nor Mme Pompfrey to tell her the password, particularly without having a plausible reason why she would need it.

"I guess they fear another stunt as the last one - they were really scared of Snape handing us over to You-Know-Who," had told her Ginny the previous evening through the mirror. "Sorry, Hermione, but I really don't think I should risk it with Slughorn... Maybe if we hadn't tried to steal the sword..."

Thus, Hermione had decided she would have to get the information she needed herself, through the simplest, most ancient method in existence: overhearing it.

That was why in the early hours of the morning, two days after leaving the boys, she was sneaking her animagus form around the seventh floor corridor that held the entrance to the Headmaster tower. The Gargoyle was placed almost at the end of a corridor decorated with tapestries and several suits of armors but no portraits. She curled carefuly behind the feet of a particularly big armour with a long surcoat and waited until somebody came to look for Snape... or he exited.

She didn't have to wait long. Barely half an hour after she arrived, an angry-looking, lumpy witch stomped past her to the Gargoyle and... ' _Kwaszsbo'_ , was all Hermione heard. However, she must have said the password right since the Gargoyle started moving. Hermione somehow got the impression that it did it grudgingly.

Hermione shifted carefully in her hiding place. Maybe the heavy fabric hanging besides her was blocking the sounds, or maybe otters didn't have such a fine ear. Undetectable sonorus charms rarely lasted more than 10-15 minutes, and she couldn't cast them in this form. _What to do?_

Her musings were interrupted by the rumble of the staircase moving again. The angry witch walked out of the tower with a menacing smile on her face that left Hermione decidely uneasy. She prayed that that smile was not in any way related to Ginny or Neville. Or any of the students, really.

She witnessed three more instances of people accessing the staircase - the same witch with Minerva barely ten minutes after the first one, Madame Pompfrey and a chubby man that seemed to have a problem with personal hygiene - but she had been unable to distinguish the sounds clearly. The only thing she was sure was that it had three syllables.

Admiting that her hiding place just wasn’t close enough to let her hear the password, she retreated and waited until after sunset before seeking a new one. After some time moving around, Hermione decided to wait under a window on the corner closest to the gargoyle. She hoped that the Headmaster or whomever came first would do it from the other side of the corridor, which was the shorter path from the Great Staircase. She also hoped that, in the darkness, her dark fur would contrast enought with the light of the window above to camouflage her with the shadows. _Or at least to make me appear nothing more than a sleeping cat_ , she thought while curling into herself.

She dozed until the clicking of a determined pair of boots woke her up. She checked, alarmed, that she hadn’t turned back to human form while sleeping and pressed closed to the wall for good measure, just before seeing a dark billowing form turn the corner.

 _Snape!_ She thought tensing, her heart beating wildly. She watched him approach the gargoyle and stop.

“Quicksilver,” she heard him mutter, stunned. The password she had chosen for her room in the dungeons had been "Mercury". Could it be a coincidence? She observed him with alarm as he looked around idly, while he waited for the gargoyle to fully open. She knew she was not completely invisible... When his eyes settled on her, she thought her heart stopped beating.

Gargoyle apparently forgotten, he approached her and squatted by her side. She looked directly into his eyes, frozen, and although they were every bit as piercing as she remembered she could also detect a definitive hint of something that in anybody else she would have simply called "curiosity".

“What do we have here?” He said quietly while extending a careful hand and touching the back of her head with a tentative finger.

Hermione knew she should have run, but fear had paralised her. She clearly remembered telling him her Patronus was an otter. She wasn’t sure that Snape had actually seen it... but if he had, he was nothing if not sharp.

“A ferret... perhaps a weasel?” He continued softly, now petting her with more confidence.

It suddenly dawned at her that he probably had never seen a living otter and thanked God, not for the first time, that she was such a small one. Ferrets weren't that unusual as pets, even among wizards... She reasoned that her only option at the moment was acting it out. She uncurled at his prodding and started sniffing his hand tentatively. He smells right, she thought involuntarily at the familiar odour. She would never have thought she would have any particular smell associated with him.

“In any case, there’s no doubt your owner keeps you well fed and fat,” he murmured with a half smile, scratching her round belly.

If she wasn’t still so very afraid she would have squeaked indignantly. Her fur needed to be that thick to keep water at bay, but due to the last months in the wild she was actually little more than skin and bones. He must have noticed some of her thoughts, thought, because he flashed a smile.

“Vain, aren’t we?” He asked, amused, petting her a bit more. “You'd better go back to your owner. This is not the safest place to sleep.”  
He stood up with a tired sigh and frowned.

“Besides, you’re not even allowed as a pet. I wonder who would– ”

“ Headmaster Snape!!” someone screeched at the end of the corridor.

He turned swiftly towards the voice, fortuitously (or not) standing just in front of Hermione and hiding her from view.

“Yes Alecto?”

“They’ve done it again!! The message in the wall! Dumbledore’s Army... Longbottom and Weasley, for sure!”

“Calm down, Alecto. Miss Weasley is still in the hospital wing and Longbottom is on detention with Professor McGonagall because of his 'disrespect' towards you of this morning.”

“Then she’s covering for them!”

“I seriously doubt McGonagall would do something that foolish. However, let’s go see that wall and then I’ll have a chat with her.” He said with finality. “Don’t worry, Alecto, I will ensure that the culprits spend all the night cleaning it up.”

 _Dumbledore’s Army!_ Thought freneticaly Hermione, seeing them walk away. Ginny in the Hospital Wing... However, the clear oportunity she had wished for was there; he had said he would ensure that they spend the whole night cleaning...

She listened intently for footsteps, and hearing none, turned back to her human form and disillusioned herself.

“Quicksilver.” She muttered, and half a minute later she was carefully opening the door to the Headmaster office. She slipped through the crack and looked around, relieved to see all the headmasters dozing. _It must be later than I thought._ Then her eyes searched for Dumbledore’s portrait, finding him just on the right of the big desk. Her heart lurched.

Fighting to keep her breathing even, she approached quietly and poked it slightly with a finger to wake him up.

“Headmaster... It’s there some place we can discuss children’s tales privately?” She murmured cautiously. The other portraits seemed to be still asleep, but she didn’t want to risk exposing herself.

The painted Dumbledore lifted both of his eyebrows and smiled, clearly surprised. Then pointed towards the door on his left, at the back of the room.

She opened the door and found a small cosy sitting room shaped as an half moon and a narrow spiral staircase on her right. She guessed the bedroom had to be over the office.

A polite cough directed her attention towards the sitting room, where she saw Dumbledore waving from a previously empty frame over the fireplace. She swallowed and discreetly checked that the mirror hanging around her neck was still disillusioned. This had been a conflictive point in their planning, since Harry was adamant he should speak with Dumbledore while Hermione and Ron were hesitant about showing the portrait their way of communicating - he was, after all, still bound to the current Hogwarts Headmaster.

“Well, my dear," the portrait said in a warm voice. "I’m so very glad to see you again. I trust Harry and Mr Weasley are well?”

“They are. Or at least they were when I left them.”

“And when and where did you left them, if I may ask?” he asked mildly.

“Not long ago and in a safest place for them than Hogwarts is right now, Headmaster,” she answered, reddening as his eyes hardened slightly. She really didn’t want to test just how far reached the vow of service of the portraits towards the Headmaster. Besides, she no longer had that intrinsic faith in this particular one.

“I see how you caution must have help Harry in his... _quest_. I trust you are still in contact...” At her curt nod, he added. “Will you tell me at least if there had been any advances?”

“It’s not going well, but...” She said and ordered her thoughts to be as brief as possible. “We destroyed the locket, the authentic one – the one you took from the cave was a fake."

"Fake? How so?"

"No time now. We also have Gryffindor sword, although you may know more about how we got it than we do...”

He nodded, agreeably, but said nothing.

“We also know about the taboo. We went to Godric’s Hollow, but there was nothing there, and we don't know any other place to look for the cup. Now, Headmaster, I haven’t got much time...Do you have any ideas about where are the others or what they could be?”

He shook his head regretfully.

“Just hypotheses, my dear, that I shared with Harry for the most part. What I am certain of is that Tom strives for highness, and has much faith in symbolism. That's why I strongly believe he would have made seven, the magical number."

"Hypotheses would work just fine right now-" interjected Hermione, but he kept talking as if he hadn't heard her.

"His egocentrism would have led him to chose relevant victims, relevant places and magnificent or legendary objects such as his private diary, the founders possessions-”

“And the Deathly Hallows? Do they truly exist? Are their powers real?” Blurted Hermione. The portrait gave her an approving look.

"Well done, Miss Granger. But the point is not if they exist or not, but if Tom Riddle believes so...” He replied, cautiously, but Hermione was thinking frenetically.

“The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup... could the Hallows be the remaining three?"

Dumbledore negated with his head.

“You are forgetting Nagini...”

“Who? Oh, of course, the snake.” She shuddered, remembering her own encounter with her. She thought bitterly that they missed the chance to killed her at Godric Hollow's. “Then in any case not the three of them, if any.” An idea popped into her mind. "Can a wand be a Horcrux? Is that why he is looking for another one?”

That seemed to catch his attention.

"Tom is looking for a new wand? How do you know?"

 "Long story," she answered vaguely, feeling a pang of petty satisfaction, but it quickly was replaced with concern. “Is it something we should worry about?”

“Everything he does is something to worry about but you should focus on finding the Horcrux before he finds you" he stated. “Do you plan on staying here?” He asked out of the blue. At her puzzled look, he added. “On Hogwarts’ grounds.”

"Not if I can't help it," she answered, then she discreetly cast a silence bell around her neck, where the mirror was. “I was meaning to ask you about it too. Is it safe? I mean, is _he_ safe?”

He shook his head.

“If your presence here were to be known, you would be in grave danger.”

“But Professor Snape vowed...”

“Headmaster Snape may have sworn to protect you, but that isn’t his role in this war. He is in an uniquely difficult situation. I strongly recommend you not to make it even more so.” He said with authority. “You have your role to play: help Harry find the Horcruxes and destroy them. However, once you have finished with them, before facing Tom, it is of vital importance that Harry speaks to me - or faces the Headmaster.”

"What? Why?"

"There is something he needs to be aware of."

“I can tell him.”

“It’s not the right time.”

 _What?_ Hermione gaped, not believing her ears. It was clear that even now he still had a plan. And still couldn’t be arsed to come clear and explain once and for all. They could die any day, for Merlin’s sake!

Hermione remembered suddenly the mirror in her chest and dispelled the silencing bell, bracing herself to say a few truths, but he talked first.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with this, nor Headmaster Snape nor the Hallows. Your priority now must be finding and destroying the Horcruxes.”

“But then why did you give me that book?”

“To make you aware of them, as Tom is. There is always a grain of truth behind superstitions. The Hallows might end up playing a part... or not. Only time will tell. And now, I would advise you to go before the Headmaster comes back and wakes the portraits.”

“Wait, Headmaster. And Harry’s snitch?”

Her surveyed her lengthly.

“It is the very first snitch he caught in his very first match. A very memorable match for him, I expect. Didn’t he liked it?”

“Yes, of course. He did. He carries it with him everywhere. But...”

“Good. Make sure to keep it that way.” He interrupted. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with Paracelsus, in the third floor. If he doesn't start his chess match in time he will sulk for weeks. Good luck, Miss Granger or well, Mrs. Snape.”

The Headmaster Dumbledore winked at her and without further preamble exited merrily his frame.

She stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds, until the voice of Harry shook her.

"Wait, Hermione, call him back. You need to ask-"

"Get out. NOW!" said Ron firmly, overriding Harry.

"OK, ok..." she answered, flustered, still not believing how the conversation went.

She backed out of the half-moon room and into the office, her mind churning with questions.

 


	29. Brown painted eyes

_...she backed out of the half-moon room and into the office, her mind churning with questions._

 

So the Hallows were real – or Voldemort thought they were – but in any case they weren’t Horcruxes. Snape was safe, but Hogwarts wasn’t, and Dumbledore didn’t want her contacting Snape for reasons unknown - could it be that he had turned..? _Not now,_ she chided herself.  Harry must talk to Dumbledore before going to Voldemort. And the snitch...

She stopped abruptly, meeting a pair of brown eyes that were staring back at her from a portrait. She blinked.

“Intruder! Intruder in the Headmaster’s office!” screamed the owner of the eyes with a shrill voice.

Within a fraction of a second all the paintings were wide awake, half of them repeating the message, the other half disappearing through the frames, presumably to warn the rest of the castle.

Hermione cursed aloud; she had been so distracted thinking about the Headmaster's words that she had forgotten the dissillusionment charm. Without second thought, Hermione flung herself towards the stairs and pushed the gargoyle’s door open. No sooner that she entered the corridor, she heard the hurried steps of a couple of high-heeled boots.

“Stop right where you are!” screeched a voice.

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” fired Hermione and started running in the opposite direction from the voice without even checking who was the owner.

She had planned for this event, she knew what she had to do. Her best chance was to reach the secret passage behind the mermaid tapestry of the sixth floor. It was one of the few hidden corridors that always had an open entrance; a hole of the size of a first year. If she could climb through the hole before her pursuer turned the corner, she could rest and concentrate enough to transform.

“Amycus, get her!” screeched the same voice as before.

Ok, pusuers then, in plural.

“ _Diffindo!_ ” Shouted a male voice.

Hermione ducked instinctually and fired back a stunner without looking, thanking Harry for the DA lessons as she saw the curse flying over her left shoulder and hitting the wall. The loud clanking of an armor falling down told her she had missed her target too.

She turned a corner. The next turn would bring her to the tapestry corridor. She felt her sides begin to ache; she definitely wasn’t prepared for this run. She braced herself and fired again just before the turn.

“ _Opugno!_ ” she shouted with all she had.

A flock of tawny birds the size of a fist appeared out of nothing, flying towards her atackers. The moment she saw the tapestry she flicked her wand to leave the opening in sight and flung herself through it, landing with a hard thump and a crack, her wand clattering out of her hand.

She rested her cheek on the stone floor and heard, over her frantic heart beats, two sets of running steps. Then one of them stopped.

“What the hell? Where did she go?”

The second one stopped too. Hermione tried to move slowly, only to have to stifle a whimper at the blinding pain coming from one of her knees. _Oh, no…_

“You lost her! You idiot!”

“I ain’t done nothing!”

“That’s the problem. Finite incantatem!” screeched Alecto.

Hermione tensed again. If they tried a “Revelio” spell they would discover her. She took hold of the mirror, still active around her neck and thought desperately "Finite, finite, finite, finite..."

“See? She isn’t here.”

The woman emited a sound of frustration and another armor clashed to the ground noisily. New steps were heard. The even, measured clacking made a chill run down her back.

“Alecto, Amycus. I trust that in exchange for all this mess you have, at least, obtained results…” said the inconfundible drawl of Severus Snape. "Where is the intruder?"

“She disappeared!”

“She? Who exactly was she?”

“It was that mudblood whor-” the man - Amycus, Hermione reckoned - cut the sentence short with a yelp.

“He means Potter’s mudblood friend, the girl Dumbledore made you marry.”

There was a short silence.

“Are you certain it was her?”

“Of course we are, Severus. You know that their photos had been in the prophet all the term...” Said Alecto indignantly.

“And Potter?”

“It was only her.”

“Without Potter?” Asked Severus again.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“Very well. Amycus, go ahead and secure the front door. She will have to go through there at some point. Alecto, go fetch McGonagall and inspect Gryffindor tower. I will speak with the portraits.”

Hermione, who had been carefully crawling inwards during the entire exchange, feeling for for her wand in the darkness, ceased her movement at hearing the fading steps. She was pretty sure that at least Snape knew of this corridor, but she hoped he would try to intercept her at the other side to give her time to try something on her leg.

A shadow drew itself on the other side of the tapestry. Hermione braced herself in case it wasn't Snape, but also in case it was. It had been a long time, and the late Headmaster hadn’t really helped easing her mind about him. What if she had been wrong at Spinners' end? What if she hadn't but he had since turned to the Dark Lord? How to tell?

The tapestry was flung violently to the side and a wand pointed directly towards her.

However, when her gaze locked with the familiar black eyes she felt something akin to relief thumping in her chest, despite herself. Something must have showed on her face, as he lowered his wand slightly. It was all the encouragement she needed to give voice to a sudden thought.

"Which form does your patronus take?"

He studied her face for a few long seconds, his expression unchanging.

"Yours?"

_There's nothing for it, girl._

"An otter," she answered promptly. Her heart was thumping so strongly in her ears that she was afraid she wouldn't hear his answer over it.

"A doe," he replied quietly, still looking at her intently. She nodded, and the rush of relief was so great she felt faint. “Miss Granger-”

“Hermione” she said, putting herself in a sitting position.

“Hermione,” he repeated, finally climbing into the corridor. “We don’t have much time. Did you come alone?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, they are safe.”

He nodded and crouched down.

“What are you going to do? Are you staying or leaving?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes. Amycus will guard the front door until I tell him otherwise, and if McGonagall thinks you might be at Gryffindor tower she will stall. She is a good match to Alecto any day so we have some time. I can still get you out, especially if our furry friend makes an appearance again...” He said with a smirk. “It wasn’t a ferret, but an otter, wasn’t it?”

Hermione nodded with a slight smile, then sobered.

“Wouldn’t give you trouble to let me go? I mean, if the Dark Lord gets wind of it...”

“I can handle it. I wasn’t the one who lost track of you, after all.”

“What will happen if I stay?”

He thought about it for a couple of seconds.

“You’ll probably spend most of your time confined in the Headmaster’s tower except for when I decide to parade you around. The Dark Lord might want to look into your mind for information, though, but if you pass that test I think you’ll be safe,” he answered, although he looked doubtful.

“And how about escaping in the future? Even if it’s for short periods of time.”

“I can’t guarantee that. If you escape, it’ll have to be believable, and preferably not under my watch,” he threw a suspicious look at her. “Why did you come here if you didn’t mean to stay? What do you need?”

“Information. Research. Advice, perhaps.”

“I see.”

They remained in silence. Hermione was thinking frenetically. She had planed to escape if possible, but the leg changed everything - it was starting to really hurt. In any case she couldn't go to Voldemort, she didn't trust her capabilities enough to risk it with him. On the other hand, she knew she was going to be of more use in here where she could investigate than out there digging up mushrooms. _Still..._ She bit her lip. She didn’t want to leave Harry alone. Only he wasn’t. He was with Ron. And they could be in touch permanently...

"Hermione, you need to make a decision."

She looked at Snape and wondered if there was anybody out there helping him. She thought not. She decided not to think why that should matter to her at all.

“I’m staying. But you'll have to keep me hidden; I can't go to Voldemort, it's not just my life that I'd be risking. Besides, I'll have to leave again. Can we do that?”

Snape didn't seem impressed by this. He mulled about it for a while - longer than Hermione thought sensible given the situation - but eventually nodded. He stood and offered her a hand up.

“Be forewarned, if you ever are discovered, I will have to make an example of you. It'll be far more dangerous, and far more unpleasant than getting caught now, believe me."

Hermione nodded with a grimace and let herself being pulled up until a sudden, blinding pain in her knee made her whimper.

"What's wrong with your leg?"

“I don’t know. I fell hard and dropped my wand somewhere in here, if you could..?”

“ _Accio_ Hermione's wand! Can you walk?”

Hermione made a try and had to clench her teeth to keep herself from moaning.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Very well. Then you'd be better be unconscious. I'll force you to transform, and then I'll carry you disillusioned over my shoulder. It won't fool anyone looking too closely, but it's better than the other options." He said, producing his wand again but then, he suddenly let his arm fall limp. "It won't hurt." He added.

Hermione realised he was waiting for permission.

"Go ahead. I'm ready."

He nodded.

" _Desmaius_ ," she heard, then everything went black.

 


	30. Face to face

She woke up with the fuzzy, wooly feeling of having slept for many more hours than necessary. She was on an incredibly soft canopy bed and sunlight was filtering through some purple curtains. She turned her head to shade her eyes from the light and she found what striked her as a most incongruous sight: Severus Snape fast asleep on a velvet chair, his chin to his chest and his feet propelled on the bed.

It took her a few minutes to realise that the reason why she found the situation so foreign was not the luxury of the room after so many months in hiding, nor his presence by her bedside but the fact that she had never ever seen him asleep. Something twisted in her stomach and she realised that, in some way, she had been missing him. Somehow, even in the impossible situation they were both in, she still felt his presence reassuring.

Hermione closed her eyes. She had planned for this situation but she still took the chance to gather her thoughts. Much as it pained her to admit it, Harry had been right in that the tidbits of information had not been worth the risk. The only actual new info was that the Deathly Hallows might be real, and that there was a hidden plot working that Dumbledore still refused to share. And Hermione doubted that the Headmaster would be any more inclined to tell her anything after she had gone against his express orders and contacted Snape. Not that that would keep her from trying.

Her mind turned to the Hallows. What did Voldemort want with them anyway? Even if they were real, a posibility she had to force herself to consider, he had already avoided Death so it made no sense that he would want the cloak. Nor the stone; she couldn't imagine that Voldemort missed many people, either dead or alive. Although Hermione did see the potential he would see in the wand, of course. 

So, what if Harry was right and Voldemort was looking not for the explanation of his wand link with Harry but for the Elder wand? It sounded ludicrous but there was generally a grain of truth behind the legends - she decided not to duel on the fact that where they did appear was in a children's tale.

Hermione added 'wandlore' to her list of things to investigate just as she sensed movement from the corner. She opened her eyes.

"Hi."

"Hi," replied Snape with a raspy voice. He immediately took his feet from the bed and propped himself up, sitting straighter. "How do you feel?"

Only then Hermione remembered her knee. She tried to move it; it felt a bit rigid and sore, but nothing felt out of place.

"Fine."

"You cracked it. I gave you some skele-gro, but I'm no mediwizard..." explained Snape. Hermione, meanwhile had stood up and was walking through the room experimentally under his watchful gaze.

"It's feels fine, really" she said, flexing and unflexing. "It's a bit stiff, but it doesn't hurt at all. Thank you."

He acknowledged it with a nod.

"Now, I think we need to talk" he said. Hermione threw him a wary glance but sat on the bed, facing him. "First of all, how did you know about the fake sword?"

Hermione had been expecting this, and had already decided she would tell him all he wanted to know except about the Horcruxes and Deathly Hallows, at least for the time being.

"We overheard a goblin talking about it" answered Hermione truthfuly. He arched an eyebrow. "It's the truth. We were camping at the Forest of Dean. Hiding. We heard some noises, so we took some extendable ears - Fred and George's invention - and listened to determine if they were dangerous. They weren't. They were a group of refugees hiding from the Ministry and the snatchers. As a matter of fact we knew who most of them were, except for the two goblins. These two Goblins apparently had to make a run from Gringotts, and they started joking about the little revenge one of them took on the Death Eaters - on you - before leaving. This goblin said he knew the sword was a fake the moment he saw it, but 'forgot' to tell you. Now, how did you know how to find us?"

Snape smiled fleetingly.

"Phineas Nigellus."

" _What?_ But we were very careful... I even blindfolded him!"

"Was that it? He told me that you had blinded him but he never explained how. However paintings not only see, but hear, you know? Apparently you started speaking about visiting the area before. Oh, don't look that upset. It all worked up fine."

"I guess so..." she admitted. _Still..._ The fact that she had slipped in something that evident made her thing that there might be other obvious things she had overlooked. Maybe even on the Horcruxes or the Hallows. Or on Dumbledore...

"Are they safe?" asked Snape in a tone Hermione did not know how to interpret. "Potter and Weasley," he added.

Hermione fought the urge to bring her hands to her chest, where she felt the weight of the mirror against her skin.

"Yes, they are. As much as they can be, considering," she ammended. She fervently wished that the wandless, silent, desperate "finite" she had thrown in the secret corridor had worked on the mirror. But there was nothing for it now: either it did and they were going mad with worry or it didn't and they were going mad with rage. She would have to check at the earliest opportunity.

"So why are you here?" he asked flatly. Hermione was relieved he had not asked for their wherabouts.

"I need to do some research," she answered simply.

His eyebrows raised in incredulity.

"Research? What about?"

Hermione sighed and braced herself; she knew that the conversation was about to turn very ugly, very quickly.

"I cannot say," she answered and almost flinched at seeing his entire body minutely freeze.

"Are you under any spell or subject to any magical compulsion of any type that can prevent you from speaking of your research?" he asked in a flat voice.

"No, I am not but... it is not my secret to tell," she finished lamely.

"I see."

"Severus-"

"No, let me get this straight," he said leaning forwards on his chair and looking as a predator preparing to jump on a prey. "So you have been successfully hiding for months now, then suddenly decide to risk _everything_ by waltzing in here, alerting half of the castle of your presence and putting me in the spotlight in front of the Dark Lord. All for a certain "research" that needs to be done in this castle of all places... Not content with that, now you expect me to keep you hidden from the castle inhabitants and the Dark Lord all by myself without even giving me a hint of what is it that I am protecting... other than _yourself_ ," he managed to inflect that last word with so much disdain that this time Hemione felt as if struck.

"It's not like that!"  
  
"Isn't it?" he said, leaning back.

"It _isn't_. How can you think-?"

"What else I am to think?" he asked sweetly. "I did warn you coming here was to be your last resort, and yet here you are, making demands." Hermione reigned in her temper.

"I know things that the Dark Lord must not see... he just can't know. And I don't trust my Occlumency enough to risk it."

"Then trust _mine_."

The words rang in the silence of the room. Hermione held his defiant gaze, her heart beating painfully on her throat.

"I can't."

He stood abruptly.

"Then we don't have anything else to discuss," he said, darkly, and turned to get out of the room.

"Wait! There might be a way..." called Hermione, thinking fast. "Has Dumbledore told you anything about what we are doing? Because if he has, if you could give me a hint that he has..." Hermione bit her lip. She didn't want to offend him, but if he said 'yes', she would need to ask him to prove it, and she knew it will certainly break the frail trust they had.

He had turned at the door, arms crossed, and looked at her intently for a few long seconds.

"No," he spated eventually, "he hasn't."

Hermione's shoulders slumped.

"Then I can't tell you. Not now, it's not the time-"

 "You are speaking just like him, you know. Expecting me to put my neck on the line for you without even giving me an explanation."

"Don't say that! I can't tell you, Severus, truly, I can't. I'd put you into even more danger, and-"

Snape gave a short bark of humourless laughter.

" _More_ danger, you say?"

"Severus-"

"Enough, Miss Granger," he cut, stalking out of the room with finality. Hermione jumped out of the bed and hurried after him, wincing with every step at the stiffness of her knee.

He had stopped at Dumbledore's - _his_ \- desk and was shuffling through his papers. Tension and anger radiated out of him in almost visible waves.

Hermione approached, not knowing how to fix the situation at all. Afterwards she couldn't have said what made her touch him.

He tensed momentarily to then gently shrug her hand off his shoulder with much less heat that she expected and Hermione had a sudden insight.

"Severus, listen to me. I trust you, completely. I trust you with my life," she enunciated clearly, placing herself by his side with her back against his desk and making herself very difficult to ignore.

"You are here because you got caught," he spated, while still pretending to look for something in the papers on her right. She put her hand flat over them.

"Still. I could have ran away this morning. Attacked you. Refused to tell you anything."

"You are still not telling anything," he pointed out, finally looking at her face.

"For God's sake, I am puting my life in your hands!" she said, exhasperated, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"And what, exactly, do you think I am doing?" he hissed, drawing uncomfortably close.

 She opened her mouth but she was at a loss for words. After a few incomfortable seconds he seemed satisfied to have made his point and pulled back. He took a step back to rest against the shelves opposite to her, unconsciously mirroring her stance. She tried again.

"Sev-"

"Save it," he said with a sigh. "I am not going to hand you over. I will abide by your orders without asking questions, like a good soldier."

From any other person, in any other situation, she would have laughed in the face of such a dramatic stance. Unsurprisingly, at that moment, she did not feel like laughing at all.

"Thank you," she said, instead. "I promise, in turn, that I will tell you as much as I can. And that I will not lie to you."

"That would be very much appreciated," he said, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

She sighed at the accute feeling of impotency.

"Severus, it's not that I - that you..." she tried to explain. "You are not infallible, you are human", she stated bluntly," and, as far as I've heard, he is not."

He did not comment on this and Hermione took his silence as acquiescence.

"There will be rules," he warned, after a while.

"Of course there will be," replied Hermione almost smiling, remembering him saying almost the exact same words when she first went to live with him.

"They will not be optional," he warned, seeing a hint of her smile.

"I know."

He nodded, but seemed to be thinking of something else. "First, however..." he muttered, propping himself up.

 

(...)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for cutting the scene there, but it was getting longer and longer and I really feel like posting this already. Next update will hopefully be up soon :)
> 
> Happy holidays everyone! ^^


	31. Mirror, mirror...

_"There will be rules," he warned, after a while._

_"Of course there will be," replied Hermione almost smiling, remembering him saying almost the exact same words when she first went to live with him._

_"They will not be optional," he warned, seeing a hint of her smile._

_"I know."_

_He nodded, but seemed to be thinking of something else. "First, however..." he muttered, propping himself up._

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Severus Snape cleared his throat and addressed the room. Hermione was forcibly reminded of her potions lessons.

"Headmasters, Headmistresses, I require your attention. I need each and every of you to check if your predecessor is present and let me know if it is not. Now, please."

There was a sudden hubbub in what until that moment had been a perfect silent room. Hermione realised with embarrassment that the portraits had been there all along and had been likely closely following their argument up until this moment. The old, gossiping goats.

"Dilys Derwent is not is his portrait, Severus," piped a thin man with a sap green sleeping cap that did nothing to hide his oversized ears.

"Nor is Walter Aragon," added another man in a muggle-looking dress jacket.

"Thank you both. Philiphe, please go fetch Dilys, she will probably be around the hospital ward. Do not talk to any other portrait other than what it is strictly necessary to find her and do not mention anything that you have seen or heard here in the last 24 hours."

"Headmaster," said a witch with a round face in an orange robe. "Professor Gagwilde is gone too. He will probably be playing chess with Professor Aragon somewhere in the second floor."

"Thank you, Heliotrope. Then please go fetch them both. The same instructions apply to you: do not dawdle and do not speak of what you saw or heard here."

The witch nodded regally and exited the frame. Snape pulled out the winged chair and sat heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"That was some fast thinking on your side," commented Hermione quietly. "Do you know the name of all the Headmasters?"

"It would be irresponsible not to," he answered. "But in any case they make a point of introducing themselves to you in the first days in the post."

Snape seemed content to be surveying the portraits and Hermione decided it was time to move from the desk. She chose a comfy-looking chintz armchair by one of the windows, from where she had the chance to look around. The office looked remarkably similar as it did the last time she had been there, already two years ago, she realised. However, the old office used to give the feeling of movement, of life, with continuous clinking and whirring sounds. In this one, there was a marked feeling of stillness. Now she could hear a low muttering coming from the portraits but there was not even a cuckoo clock that disturbed the silence in the lulls of the conversations. She wondered if he had done that on purpose.

"We are all here, Headmaster," announced Phineas Nigellus in a pompous voice. Hermione looked sharply at him but the wizard seemed to be pointedly avoiding looking in her direction.

"Thank you, Phineas. Heads of Hogwarts," he called, addressing the entire room. "I am calling on your oath of service to Hogwarts and to myself as the current Headmaster. You did well to raise the alarm when you detected an intruder in these rooms..." he said, and Hermione felt many painted eyes turned to her. "...and I thank you for it. That said, I must inform you that Hermione Snape, my bonded wife, is here under my protection, and that she does not pose any threat to the school or any of its inhabitants. However, for her own safety - and my own - it is imperative that no*one becomes aware of her presence in these quarters..." he seemed to hesitate for an instant "...or anywhere else in the castle. It is for this reason that I must ask your complete discretion in this matter for as long as she remains here: not a single word over her presence, whereabouts or actions should be said outside this office or within hearing distance of any other persons or portraits. Are there any questions?"

"I do have one," said a voice that made Hermione stiffen. Dumbledore had spoken in a very mild voice but all the portraits quieted at once. "How does putting your safety in jeopardy poses no threats 'to the school or any of its inhabitants'?" he asked, paraphrasing Snape.

"I misspoke," answered Snape with a silky voice that made Hermione nervous. "As Headmaster Dumbledore pointed out, it is my own safety that I am putting at risk, not the school's. Even if I were to be incapacitated or replaced, that would not affect the school's workings any more than any other transition between Heads...and hopefully less that some."

Dumbledore, seemingly unfazed by the reference, was clearly not convinced.

"Considering the current situation-"

"Oh, hush, Albus. There is always some Dark Acolyte or another with pretentions meddling somewhere," intervened a witch in purple robes. "And no decent husband would leave his wife defenseless!"

There were some polite coughs and muffled scoffs at her words but nobody dared to contradict her openly.

"Hogwarts must not deny protection to anyone with a kind heart," added Dilys Derwent with a conciliatory smile.

"Merlin protect us," muttered a male voice quite audibly.

"Anyone in need," repeated Dilys, that time with steel behind her words. Hermione would have bet the other voice had belonged to Phineas Nigellus. When she looked, however, he seemed to be finding something on the cushion of his seat much more interesting than anything the rest of the portraits were saying.

Snape waited for a few seconds until the murmurs settled before speaking.

"If there are no other comments, I declare the matter settled. Thank you for your attention. You may go."

There was a general shuffling and budging but Hermione realised that not many portraits actually left. She looked back at the black, still figure sitting behind the huge mahogany desk.

"That should cover it for the time being," he told her. "Breakfast is almost over. I'll need to make an appearance downstairs and ensure everything is under control. In the meantime I suggest you get yourself comfortable. I will send some food to the office. Is there something else you need?"

Hermione did not have to think about it.

"A shower," she answered earnestly.

His face froze for an instant, then he gave the most inelegant snort Hermione had heard in months - and she had been living with Harry and Ron in a tent. She felt herself redden.

"It's the door at the back of the bedroom. I am afraid the Headmaster's bathroom follows the wizard's preference for baths rather than showers but I do not expect you to be picky right now," he said, pulling a remarkably straight face.

"I am not," she assured. Hermione saw the ghost of a smile flash through his face again before he turned and exited the room.

The moment the door closed she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding then let herself go boneless on the armchair for a minute. She'd done it, gotten into Hogwarts, sneaked into the Headmaster's office, confronted Dumbledore, confronted Snape and convinced him not only not to hand her over but to help her.

 _Now it was just a matter of letting the boys know_ , she thought, and the tension gripped her body again.

She looked around for a clock, finding a small, silent one in one of the vitrines. Breakfast would be over in 20 minutes and it was 5 to 10 minutes walk from the Headmaster's office so she had roughly half a hour before Snape was back in the office.

She spend ten fastidious minutes trying all fawcets to find the combination that created more noise and generated more steam. She wanted to ensure that even if somebody (or something) was spying on her, they would have a hard time telling her apart, much less recognising her friends in the mirror. When she was barely capable of seeing her own hands, she got into the small pool, clothes included.

The bath was fashioned after the one in the prefect's bathrom - or the other way round - and although it barely reached her waist it would comfortably fit four or five people without them needing to touch.

She finished the disillusionment charm and tapped on the mirror with her wand.

"Psst, guys. It's me, H," she waited for a few seconds, straining her ears for any sounds from the other side. "Please answer me, I don't have much time."

She tried in vain for several minutes, getting more and more desperate. "Please please answer me." What if they were there, listening, if they had been all this time and didn't want to answer anymore? What if they had given up on her because she had betrayed them? 

With the hair plastered to her face and the moisture on her skin it took her a few seconds to realise that she was crying. She swallowed the lump in her throat with difficulty and tried one more time. "I just want you to know n-not to worry, that I'm f-fine, that I'm with you. Always. I will scour this castle until I find something that'll help us finish this. And I'll find it, I swear," she whispered fiercely.

She took a deep breath and pressed the mirror against her ear, in case she was able to hear something, anything, but one of the pipes was rattling loudly. She closed it with a slash of her wand but the mirror remained woefully silent.

She opened the windowpanes to let the light in and made the steam disappear with a wave of her wand.

When she looked down at the palm of her hand the only thing she saw was her own damp face, hair plastered against her scalp, split in two by a thin, black line. The mirror had cracked.

 


	32. Diversification

She stood staring at her tired, waxy reflection on the broken mirror as if frozen.

Had Harry and Ron scratched her out for good or could it be that the charm broke as the mirror did?

 _It could make sense_ , thought Hermione, her heart starting to speed up. In the end the charm was designed to convince two objects that they were the same to be able to exchange views whenever the charm was activated. It was possible, likely even, that once one of them changed form - in this case, broke in two - the connection broke too since the charm was not strong enough to hold up the pretence that they were still the same.  
So it was possible that they were not ignoring her at all...

A knock on the bathroom door startled her out of her ruminations and some instinct made her slide neatly into the pool - clothes still on and wand in hand.

"Yes?" she called, hoping against hope that the splash had been small enough as to be taken as a result of a sudden movement inside the pool rather than what it actually was.

"Is there a problem?" said Snape muffled voice from behind the heavy door.

"Hmm, no," called Hermione, trying to untie her shoelaces under the water. "I could be out in 5 minutes," she offered, carefully placing one of her trainers outside the pool.

"In your own time," he answered, and Hermione could not discern if it was meant sarcastically or not. "I've left some clothes on the bed. I hope you will find something of use."

"Thank you. I am sure I'll find something," she answered politely, cringing at her lameness. She placed out the second trainer, along with her socks.

After a couple of unbearable seconds in which Hermione was sure the door would blast open any time - it was evident he had noticed something was off - he spoke again.

"I will be in the office," he stated simply, then Hermione could hear his muted steps (thankfully) going away.

She counted until 10, then got rid of the rest of her clothes. As an afterthought, she fished her underwear from the pile and scrubbed it with one of the gels. She sincerely hoped that he had not thought to provide underwear himself, she would be mortified knowing that he knew what she was wearing underneath.

She washed herself quickly but thoroughly, hoping against hope that the sickly sweet smell resulting of the mix of all the fawcets would not stick to her hair.

She dried her soaked clothes with her wand, then wrapped herself in a towel, genuinely curious to see what he had managed to gather for her within such a short notice. To her relief, there was no underwear in sight. However, except for a high-necked white shirt that she immediately suspected to belong to him, Hermione had no idea where he could have gotten the rest of the clothes.

There were a pair of black thick woollen tights that could be her size, two hideous green woollen socks, a purple nightgown that, at first sight, was far too long for her, a garish pink gown, a hufflepuff outer robe and, of all things, a clearly worn muggle black t-shirt with the cover of a Jethro Tull album.

Instictually steering clear of the pink robe without really knowing why, she quickly donned the white shirt and the tights and took the hufflepuff robe in case she was cold. As an impulse, she grabbed the muggle t-shirt and the green socks and took them with her downstairs - she figured she could use them as pyjamas.

She padded down the dark, stone stairs and through the half-moon living room in which she had spoken to Dumbledore only a few hours before, then pulled open the door to the office. The moment she entered the brightly lit - and richly decorated - room, it struck her where she was. She pulled down on her shirt tails self-consciously even though she knew they fell almost to her knees.

When Snape's eyes latched on the shirt, a deep frown on his face, she sudenly wished she had chosen the horrid pink robe. She almost apologised.

"Once I saw the pool and the fawcets, I couldn't help having a proper bubble bath." she said instead.

He waved her explanation away and motioned towards a silver tray balancing on the corner of his desk. Hermione forgot every concern about her attire the moment the delicious smell of a full breakfast Hogwarts' style reached her nose.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, feeling a pang of guilt at thinking about Harry and Ron. She dug in immediately and ate with relish, barely aware of his scrutiny. Once she was done, she leaned back and closed her eyes in satisfaction, feeling completely content for the first time in a long while. The troubled thoughts did not take long to pull at her.

At some point when she was out there, frozen and malnourished, under the yellowing fabric of the tent, it had seemed as if that Hogwarts could still hold all the answers they were looking for. Once the idea had taken hold, they had planned and plotted rentlessly to get her here. Now, confronted with the reality of it, she was equally hopeful and scared of whatever answers she would find...if any at all.

She looked at the floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed with books and she wondered if there would be actually anything useful there. She had already summoned the Horcrux's books before leaving for the summer so she had little hope there, but there were two other open topics, both related to magical history in some way: the unbeatable wand and the founders. She had trusted up to that moment _Hogwarts, a History_ as the reliable and thorough book it was but there should certainly be more and it was under the realm of possibility that the author would have by-passed some information on the founder's relics - or even decided not to include it due to thinking the source unreliable. If she was being honest with herself, though, she was not really convinced that she would be able to find more information in Hogwarts' books than Dumbledore had during an entire year or research...

However, there was something that Hermione suspected the Headmaster might have overlooked, as would have most wizards raised within the wizarding world: Hogwarts' only source of information was not its library. The castle itself had a marked tendency of allow their inhabitants to have secrets, two places came to mind straightaway: the room of requirements and the Chamber of Secrets. The portraits were another source worth exploring; it would definitely be helpful if Dumbledore decided to give her a hand but in the end he was not the only portrait in the castle... nor had he any control over the ghosts - that she knew. She would have to be careful to involve beings capable of speech but there might be no other way of getting a reliable account of what Riddle did in his Hogwarts' years.

And if everything else failed... her gaze fell on the man looking at her with a inscrutable expression. It seemed so obvious that she should ask _him_ what he thought that it made her all the more hesitant to seriously consider it. Why, with him being in a such obviously key position, had Dumbledore not involved him?

She suddenly realised that she was staring straight into his eyes and looked away - if he had ever felt tempted to look into her mind, she would bet that was the moment.

"So, Miss Granger... what do you plan to do now?"

"May I ask you some questions?" she replied, trying not to show her sudden nervousness.

"You may, but I can't promise I'll give any answers."

 _Fair enough_. She tried to organise her ideas.

"Whose are these books?" she asked tactfully, not wanting to mention Dumbledore.

"Most of them are Hogwarts' although there are some of my own here and there. However, you might be interested in knowing that most of them belonged once to Albus Dumbledore," he said cunningly.

She smiled ruefully and nodded, conceding his point.

"Is there a catalogue of portraits?" she fired. If he was surprised, he hid it well.

"There was a try in the late eighteen century, if I'm not mistaken, which has been mostly acting as the official one since very few portraits - other than the Headmaster's, of course - have been added ever since. I could dig it up for you."

"I would appreciate that. And... is there any registry of ghosts?"

This time his eyebrows went up.

"I don't think there is such a thing. I don't even think anybody would have _thought_ of it."

"Why ever not?"

He seemed to mull a bit over it.

"Ghosts are generally volatile... They tend to keep around a place but sometimes they don't really have to, and most of them evaporate after a while - life goes on and at some point they come to accept how things stand. Ghosts in Hogwarts are a bit of an exception, although not the only one, probably because of the castle essentially remaining unchanged for the last thousand years." He seemed to reflect for a moment. "I don't suppose you will tell me whose ghost you are looking for..."

"I don't think I should. Yet." Hermione could almost see him pushing down his annoyance. "It would be immensely helpful to know if ghosts can take vows of secrecy, though."

His eyebrow raised again.

"Do you realise how close that is to Dark Magic?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Vows, although fully accepted in wizarding society under certain circumstances, are magical compulsions that enslave a person's will. A well-placed vow - or set of vows - on a person would bind more effectively a person's will than the _Imperius_... Do not let my - _our_ \- situation misled you; it is exceedingly rare for wizards to take vows these days, and if you were to propose they would act terribly offended."

Hermione felt as if something had got stuck in her chest.

"But the portraits..."

"The portraits are not people, Miss Granger."

"And ghosts..? What are they?"

Snape spread his hands in demonstration.

"Whatever you believe they are - nobody knows for sure - but the common conception is that once somebody dies his or her magical core, his spirit - his soul, if you wish - can go forwards... or remain."

"Then how can I..?" started Hermione, feeling quite uncomfortable, then changed course. "Can they be affected by vows at all?"

He negated slowly with his head, then spoke gravely, enunciating every word.

"The question you should be asking is, no matter what they are, if the answers you are looking for are worth binding a (perhaps) eternal entity."

Hermione closed her eyes and thought of herself, of Harry, of what was a stake, on the effort that took to bring her here. She swallowed thickly. "If there is a way to bind ghosts to secrecy, I'd like to know."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just saw that apparently this fic has been nominated (and voted for even!) for the #HavenAwards18!
> 
> To be completely honest, this is the first time I hear about these awards but I feel immensely happy that one of you not only put up with my slow updates but enjoyed reading this fic enough to nominate it and/or vote for it! Heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you - it really made my day!! (or month, more like ^^).
> 
> Apparently the final round of votation will be open until February 26th. If you want to vote for this or any other fic, or just have a look at the nominees, you can do so in the following link:
> 
> https://goo.gl/forms/jyNIPN49YsrG77Yj2
> 
> Thanks again for reading!
> 
> P.S. Just as a curiosity (and if don't forget) I'll write in the comments of next chapter where exactly I imagine Snape took the clothes from and whom they belong to!


	33. The first visitor

"It's not a punishment," he ground out after Hermione failed to comment on her new bedroom for a few seconds. In truth she didn't know what to say; it was a room the size of a walk-in closet with bare stone walls and no windows in which a single bed and a chair just barely fit. There were not portraits, at least, she had to give it that, although there was a full-sized mirror opposite the bed through which, he was explaining, she could access the bathroom. She took in everything and looked back at him. All in all it was an improvement over the dingy tent, but just barely.

"I'll take whatever you can give me," she answered, trying to keep her resentment out of her voice - and probably failing. She had barely spend a couple of hours conscious in the tower, and no more than 15 minutes in the bedroom floor which, by the way, was huge, but she was sure there was another entire upper floor she had not visited, not to mention the half-moon living room downstairs that could perfectly fit a bed.

"There is a wide working area upstairs,"he explained, "with an observatory and a balcony, and a second set of rooms. However, if somebody were to come flying, he would be in between you and m- the exit," he elaborated.

She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

"Who exactly would _fly_ up to here-?"

"You know who," he replied, with only the barest hint of irony.

Hermione had no more objections.

After their conversation about ghosts, Hermione had a hard time falling asleep. However, as it often happens, the next day she woke up feeling her worries greatly diminished. There was no need to take drastic decisions; at this point she was just exploring all the possibilities. When she went down to the half-moon room, there was a breakfast tray waiting for her by the XVIII century portrait catalogue she had already started to work her way through the previous day. They had a agreed that, for safety, she would keep out of the office and the upper floors when he was out of the tower.

Hermione soon discovered that this happened far more often that that she would have expected. Although he had no lessons to give, he made a point to be present in each and every meal, held a general staff meeting once a week that could go on for hours and summoned each teacher individually at random intervals - when it was not him being summoned. What it was discussed during these meetings, she didn't know for sure, since every time the stairs started moving she was sent to her "bedroom" for the duration. All this meant that the only time she actually had left to peruse the old Headmaster's books or try to convince Dumbledore to speak to her was in the brief intervals Snape whenever Snape was showering, changing clothes or working upstairs - which rarely happened, since most of his work seemed to consist in perusing, scribbling on and shuffling around parchments in his office.

Still, she kept trying every chance she got.

While she worked tirelessly in the biography of portraits and her own catalogue of ghosts when he was in the tower, the moment he was out and she moved to the half-moon room her notes transformed into spell-diagrams for the mirror connection, lists of historical figures that could potentially have held the Deathstick and a reproduction of her old notes on Horcruxes, including a timeline with people an events on Tom Riddle's life.

However, a week after her arrival, her concern over the broken mirror overweighted any other topic; she didn't know what Harry and Ron would do if she did not get in touch soon. She had ascertained on the first chance she got that the charm in the mirror had effectively broken, which left her with two options: either she figured out a way of connecting the mirrors again or she had to somehow manage to contact Ginny. With every hour that passed she felt more and more tempted to just send a patronus.

The tray with her meal appeared on the desk, startling her out of her thoughts and indicating dinner had started in the Great Hall. She dropped her quill with a sigh and started recalling all the reasons why sending a patronus to the boys was not a good idea. She covered how a patronus could alert any number of snatchers in the area of the exact location of her friends' tent and how inconvenient - inexcusable, more like - would be if somebody were to see a patronus coming out of the Headmasters' tower as he was away. When she was about to tackle just how unlikely it was that her patronus would actually reach her friends in the first try when she had no idea where they were, she heard the rumble the spiral staircase made as it moved.

She sighed, _up we go again_. She dropped the fork and gathered her papers - after doing this routine at least twice a day for a week, she had everything perfectly timed. In the time a person opened the gargoyle and let himself be lifted to the door of the office she had more than enough time to summon her papers, wipe any trace of her presence and climb her own stairs at a leisure pace. Once she was in the floor of the main bedroom, she would have to do an incredible amount of noise to be heard downstairs.

This time, she stopped to take a last look at the half-eaten pudding- it really was a pity to let it grow cold. What would Snape want just now, anyway? He never missed a meal...

The implications dawned on her the same instant she heard a door in the next room being pushed open forcefully: it was not Snape. She looked at the stairs to her safe room, directly in front of the door to the office and made a split-second decision: instead of running up, she disillusioned herself, and quietly backed away from the door, wand in hand and her papers against her chest, praying that the spell would take effect in time.

As she felt the cold trickle of the spell reaching her feet the door opened, and she had to supress a gasp.

The solution of her most pressing trouble was at the door, wand in hand, with her jaw clenched and a fierce expression she recognised too well. She observed as Ginny surveyed the room and entered, keeping her wand trained on the staircase. Hermione was torn. It would be so easy to show herself, pass information, ask for the mirror... However the vow was acting out, and a blunt pressure on her throat was giving her a more than clear warning against it.

The sensation was familiar, but never, in all the times she had tested the vow with Harry and Ron, had she felt this suffocating pressure. She realised that they had been incredibly naive, all of them. After all, when they had been testing she had been "regulating" the level of treason since, at that point the only thing she could possibly do to betray him was something she had no intention of doing. This time she definitely had the intention of showing herself to Ginny even though there was no doubt in her mind that she would be betraying his trust... She reckoned that she had 5 to 10 safe minutes, would she be able to convince herself on the contrary in such little time? 

Before she could even consider the possibility twice, he noticed him at the door. A shiver ran through her back at his cold stare, completely devoid of feeling. How had he known this quickly? His wand trained on the back of her friend, who had progressed until the table and was looking at the half-eaten meal suspiciously.

Everything happened very fast then. Ginny felt his presence and tried to turn but it was too late; his silent spell hit her in the back and the girl collapsed in a heap mid-turn.

Hermione approached at once and kneeled by her friend's side. Snape barely looked at Hermione when she disillusioned herself and she had the disturbing thought that he had known she was there all the time.

"Tell me this was not your doing," he demanded.

"I had nothing to do with it," replied Hermione truthfully, throwing a basic diagnosis scan at the redhead which, to her relief, glowed blue.

"Did you speak to her?"

"I didn't let her see me."

"What did she want?"

"How would I know?" she threw back, busy trying to turn her friend on her back. "Help me, will you? If she stays in this position she will have neck pains afterwards."

He remained standing over them unhelpfully, his arms crossed.

"You expect me to believe that Ginevra Weasley trying to get into my quarters within a week of your arrival has nothing to do with you?"

"Yes," she challenged, not quite looking into his eyes. She felt strangely off-balance after what had happened - she had somehow forgotten how capable he could be. "Don't look at me like that, I know this is not the first time she tries to pull this off and I had nothing to do with that one either."

"How do you know..? Nevermind," he said with an impatient sigh. "You are sure she didn't see you?"

"Yes," said Hermione her eyes still fixed on her friend, but no longer trying to avoid Snape's; they were now fastened on a thin knitted chain wrapped around Ginny's neck that continued inside her robes. Her hands started sweating.

"Then bring her to the office," he ordered. "I will have to stage a small scene. Can I trust you not to interfere?"

"Can I - Could I have a moment with her?" Hermione asked, her throat suddenly dry.

"You can not speak to hear," he stated.

"I know. It's- just a few seconds... You never know when it'll be the last time," she improvised.

She could feel Snape start at her explanation and she fought not to blush. She liked Ginny well enough but they'd never been that close - he didn't have the means to know that, though.

"Very well," he acquiesced.

Five minutes later Hermione was listening from the half-moon room - he had forgotten to ask her to go upstairs and she had not offered to - to a version of Snape she had forgotten about and she decidedly liked less than the one she was getting used to. They had settled in a congenial routine easily, and she had quickly noticed how much she had actually missed his quiet company and intellectual back-and-forth. It was daunting to confront just how disconnected the image she had of him was from what everyone else saw. It begged the question of who was he, really?

Ginny was, after a series of rather insulting barbs and veiled threats, sent to detention with Hagrid for a month. After a couple of seconds of silence and the rumble of the spiral staircase, _her_ Snape came back to the half-moon room.

"Have you been listening all the time?"

"Were you expecting me not to? It's my friend."

He didn't answer, but took out his outer robe and threw himself onto a sofa. Then he opened a couple of bottoms at the neck of his shirt and proceeded to roll up his sleeves, as she had seen him sometimes do when they were in the dungeons and he was not expecting any visitors. It was the first time, however, that Hermione found herself following the agile movement of his fingers and remarked on the shape of his wrists and the tendons on his forearms. The feeling was similar to seeing a familiar figure through her father's unfocused camera lens unknowingly and suddenly having the figure move into focus. Her eyes felt on the hint of the clavicle bone, peeking through the opening of his shirt and she turned her head away sharply, suddenly uncomfortable.

"So, what did you think of it?"

Hermione needed a few seconds to understand that he was referring to his "scene".

"You were not very nice," answered Hermione lamely.

He scoffed. "I was not in top shape. Still, with some luck it will deter her from trying again - whatever it is that she is trying to do," he said, looking pointedly at her.

Knowing the trademark Weasley's stubborness, she sincerely doubted it but she was not about to say that.

"What was she trying to achieve?" he insisted, leaning forward towards her his elbows on his knees. "Hermione, if you do know anything...it is important"

"I imagine," she answered, then took a few seconds to put her thoughts in order. What had Ginny been thinking?  "She seemed to be looking for something. She might be even be looking for me - after all, I disappeared without trace."

"You were in contact with her before meeting with me," he stated.

"Yes, of course."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and Hermione felt suddenly guilty.

"I did not mean to cause you trouble," she said, sincerely. "I will leave, if you ask me too. Tonight, if necessary."

He opened his eyes and watched her carefully, seemingly thinking over her proposal.

 "That won't be necessary", he replied, but Hermione heard a clear _just yet_. She was relieved, of course, but also, she took it to mean that he was not finding her company that bothersome. Almost she was well aware that he didn't have much choice for company at the moment... it was either her or nobody.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said after a few minutes of silence. "Have you thought of telling somebody?"

"Telling what?"

"That you are with us, with the Order."

"No," he said abruptly. "That is not my role anymore. Besides... who would believe me?" He chuckled darkly. "Nevermind that, who would not kill me on the spot, given the chance?"

Hermione had to admit he had a point but the answer came unbidden.

"McGonagall."

He snorted.

"You have quite the distorted image of her - maybe I should allow you to "overhear" my meetings more often - but I can't blame you, you were one of her kittens..."

Hermione tsked.

"Don't be patronising. She's probably hurt and angry, but once she knows the truth..."

"Forgiveness is not one of Gryffindors' strong points-"

"Nor Slytherins'," she cut.

"You'd be surprised," he answered coldly.

Realising she was going nowhere, she changed tactics.

"Will you at least think about it?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"There's nothing to think about."

"Severus, _please_?"

"Drop it, _Hermione,_ " he retorted, seemingly amused by her ploy. Hermione reddened slightly but kept her head high.

"Alright," she said, summoning her papers and going back to her dinner. She could not help but mutter "you stubborn man."

If he heard her, he pretended not to. He summoned a book and started reading. Hermione finished dinner and pretended to be deeply immersed in a book of vows before retiring at the same time as usual.

Once in her room, she isolated the walls, secured every door against intruders and pulled out the mirror that had been burning in her pocket all evening.

Ginny had been smarter than her and had knitted a bag around it to protect it. It looked like a big - if slightly extravagant - pendant. She briefly contacted the boys who, as she had suspected, seemed to be completely oblivious to her "treason". She kept the mirror open barely enough time to reassure them that she was okay and to promise to call them back the following day from a "safe place". Then she pocketed it safely inside her everyday clothes.

Later that night she risked sending her otter with a message within Hogwarts: "I've got it - mine broke. I'm sorry. Do not try again."

It was only afterwards that she realised that she had not heard the stairs move a second time after Ginny climbed them up. How had he gotten into the tower?


End file.
